


Thumos & Psyké | θυμός καὶ ψυχή

by persephoneregina



Category: Mamamoo, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Adorable Kim Taehyung | V, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Blood, Dancer Lee Taemin, Dom Kim Namjoon | RM, Drama, Drinking, Drug Use, Excessive Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Falling In Love, Feelings, Female Homosexuality, Gang Leader Kim Namjoon | RM, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Guest Stars, Killing, Kim Namjoon | RM & Min Yoongi | Suga Are Best Friends, Kim Namjoon | RM Is Whipped, Kim Taehyung | V & Park Jimin Are Best Friends, Love, Love Triangles, Love at First Sight, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mentioned Other K-pop Artist(s), Min Yoongi | Suga Is Bad at Feelings, Min Yoongi | Suga Is Whipped, Minor Lee Taemin/Park Jimin (BTS), Mizuage, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prostitution, References to Drugs, Romance, Side Story, Smut, Soft Kim Taehyung | V, Soft Park Jimin (BTS), Sweet Kim Seokjin | Jin, Threesome - M/M/M, Trauma, Violence, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2019-11-05 09:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17916104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephoneregina/pseuds/persephoneregina
Summary: “Namjoon?” a voice called from the corridor.He stood up from his relaxed position on the armchair and stretched his neck, swiftly rotating it on the left and on the right, and smirked with odd satisfaction at the crackling sound of his bones.“Are you ready?” [...]“When was I not?” Namjoon answers, dryly, with a deep voice, before standing up and adjusting the collar of the shirt around his neck while lifting his chin up.“How so?” Hwasa asks, raising an eyebrow, switching from scared to intrigued in the blink of an eye: after all, those were her fairies, she needed, and even more desired, to know what Solar had came up with regarding their mizuage.“We will have a full-scale auction. I mean to show the off as much as I possibly can and, in a month, we will hold a massive event for those two pretty jewels of ours. We will only invite the wealthiest and most influential clients, the most loyal ones. I have heard how some of them are so desperate for fresh meat they’d be willing to give away a fortune. And we will take a fortune and a half for those fairies, after, of course, making sure the Pearl and the Opal teach them how to make the magic happen.”





	1. Era of the Snake: 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> This is my first BTS based fanfiction, and if I hopefully manage to pull it through, it is going to one hell of a work.  
> I would like to say, before you begin to read, that I am a non-native English speaker, so I hope you will be understanding towards me, should I make mistakes.  
> In this space you will always find my warnings to the readers about the description of any delicate or sensitive subjects that I will be writing about in the chapters, so that hopefully I won't hurt your sensitivity, yet please keep in mind this will be a story with twisted, dark and violent themes. Shouldn't you be comfortable with that, I promise I'll be posting some fluffier and softer contents in the future, but this fanfiction specifically may not be of your taste.
> 
> I'll just leave you to the first chapter, please make sure to let me know by leaving me kudos or a compliment whether you've enjoyed it!
> 
> Hope we will have a pleasant time together.

 My [Twitter](https://twitter.com/PersephoneRegi1)

# Thumos & Psyké | θυμός καὶ ψυχή

 

## Era of the Snake: 1

 

Nighttime.

He has always loved nighttime, for as long as he can remember.

That almost magic aura that would wrap itself around the city at dusk, and completely smother ordinary lives in the charm of sleep, was the very condition of his existence.

He never felt like he belonged with those who would be content with living their lives during the day: the voices, the noises, the frantic occupations and errands led by normal people would just feel unnatural to him. He could’ve never made it the way everyone else did, days to him would feel as if the light of the sun would drain him dry and lifeless.

But nighttime… Nighttime would make everything different: in the darkness he would become his real self and start functioning in one hell of an efficient way. The motherly light of the moon would shine with her bliss and keep him safe from harm, and damn if he needed that. Of course, his partners would watch over him as well, but he liked to believe, in a small, hidden place within his soul, that he had been doomed and blessed to find his real identity and path under the moonlight. And indeed he did.

He began to call those of his kin _moonchildren_ , even though what they were and did was the furthest possible from being all games and fun. Not that it wasn’t pleasant. Just not in a childish way. Which made the oxymoron more enjoyable.

“Namjoon?” a voice calls from the corridor.

He stands up from his relaxed position on the armchair and stretches his neck, swiftly rotating it on the left and on the right, and smirks with odd satisfaction at the crackling sound of his bones.

“Are you ready?” the owner of the voice peaks inside the dark room, sliding the rice paper door enough to just sneak in his head.

“When was I not?” Namjoon answers, dryly, with a deep voice, before standing up and adjusting the collar of the shirt around his neck while lifting his chin up.

The other man goes away with lightweight steps. Namjoon waits for the sound of the steps to fade as they get further along the corridor and he does a last, quick check of the weapons he's carrying. Everything is in place. He walks slowly towards the wall mirror, taking a last careful look at his figure as he presses the hair on the left side of his head in place.

“Gentlemen” he says as he reaches the large hall at the end of the corridor, exhibiting himself in a playful twirl in front of the three men waiting for him, their silhouettes barely distinguishable in the darkness “We have a deal to sign.”

“Look at yourself” a familiar, smooth voice says, in an almost annoyed tone “Strutting like Heidi fucking Klum at New York’s Fashion Week.”

“Oh come on, Yoongi, don’t be such a killjoy” replies the tall, slender man next to him, his lips opening up in an excited smile as he softly hits the chest of the other man.

“Yeah Yoongi, what the fuck? Could you at least pretend to be glad?” Namjoon backs at Yoongi, watching as he freezes Hoseok with his glance after being hit by him.

“You want me to pretend to be happy about something I’m suspicious about, so no, not going to happen.”

Yoongi stares at Namjoon with challenge in his eyes and a clenched jaw.

“Also, turning business in a damn fashion show proves how right I was about you not being ready.” He smirks, and Namjoon deeply inhales, bending his head back while swallowing in order to get rid of the rush of blood to his head.

It’s a fraction of a second, and the other couple of eyes in the room stares at them.

Namjoon pounces at Yoongi and lifts him up from the collar of the black shirt with a savagely tight grasp around the fabric, almost not feeling his fingers anymore, and gets dangerously close to the naturally pale face of the other one, who keeps looking into his eyes with a startled yet composed expression.

“Now you listen carefully- Namjoon’s voice is a whisper, yet a blazing one -You think that us being partners gives you any fucking right to express judgments? Let me tell you, it doesn’t. So I really need you to focus on the instructions I’m giving you right now Yoongi, I really fucking do: In five minutes we’re going to walk out of the door of this house, my house, the house where you have been welcomed and where you thought it’d be ok to try to shit on me like you just did.  I will be graceful enough not to bare-handedly break your knees this time, just because I need you to be able to stand up for this meeting. You will come with us and join the meeting, you won’t make a sound, you won’t say a word unless I tell you to, you won’t flex a muscle unless I ask you to and at the end of it you will party with us at this deal we’ve been working years to achieve. Are we understood?”

“Yes, yes we are” Yoongi answers in a completely flat voice, a slight sense of self consciousness running through his mind. Namjoon released him from his grip with an angry movement.

Of course, Yoongi likes Namjoon, otherwise he just wouldn’t have stick around him for so long, but still he couldn’t help himself from speaking up when he wasn’t willing to comply with the decisions he made for all of them. This one, in particular, didn’t feel right to him from the beginning, but he surely didn’t want to fight about it and if only his tongue hadn’t run faster than his brain, he could’ve maybe tried one last time to speak in a reasonable way about his doubts to Namjoon, but he guessed he fucked up just fine, so he bit his inner cheeks as he twisted the tongue in his mouth and swallowed.

“Nice. Jungkook?” Namjoon turns his face to the youngest member of their gang, who had been silent all along the whole time.

“Yes, Monster?” he is quick to answer but his voice is feeble.

He hates it when they argue, and even if it very seldom happens, it still shakes him deeply.

Namjoon brings him back to his senses, and Jungkook wants to believe that he called him because he knows how much he needs to get a grip over his tension. He shakes it off with an almost unnoticeable blink of both eyes.

“Mind helping with my coat?”

Jungkook reaches for Namjoon’s black woolen cape and fetches it, appreciating with a slight caress the softness of the fabric.

“You two get to the car, we’ll be there in a minute”.

Hoseok and Yoongi walk out of the door without making any sound, besides the ones of their heels on the expensive parquet.

“Hey, look at me right now”

Jungkook lifts his face and looks at Namjoon with his huge, deep, baby eyes, finding him hinting a smile, that carves dimples on his cheeks, and suddenly a shiver of relax runs down his spine.

“You know that I had to be harsh.” Namjoon voice sounds comforting and almost fatherly.

“I know, hyung.”

“Good thing that you do. Now listen to me, we are family. Always been, always will be. But families need order and rules, and it’s my responsibility to make sure that everyone sticks to his role. Do you get that?”

“Yes hyung, I do. I just hate it when you argue.”

 _I just hate it because it brings back so much ugly stuff about my life_ , he wishes he could say, but that’s not the time nor the place to get sentimental, and Jungkook knows how to get a grip on his feelings.

Namjoon seems to silently appreciate.

They stay silent as Namjoon picks up the coat from Jungkook’s hands and wraps it around himself, while the youngest fixes one edge of the cape on Namjoon’s opposite shoulder with a brooch. It has the shape of an “O”, but on a closer look the silver ring reveals its shape: a snake, finely carved, eating its tail, with gleaming ruby eyes.

“It’s a uroboros. Do you know what it is?” Namjoon gets his lips close to Junkook’s ear. “It is the symbol of the endless circle of life and death, of destruction and renewal, of unity, immortality and perfection of nature.” In a fraction of a second Namjoon is standing again where he was before leaning towards him.

Jungkook can’t help but watch him with charmed eyes.

“I’ll tell you more about it another time. We really need to go now.”

Jungkook nods and opens the door for the elder one. They reach Hoseok’s car silently and get inside, the noise of the revving up engine is the only hearable sound on the quiet street outside the villa.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The night is young.

Like Artemis, the first face of the moon, the huntress, the virgin, the rebel, the Lady of the Amazons and the Nymphs, the night, at its youngest, offers a thrilling atmosphere to her children, and is generous and kind to those who recognize her authority and please her.

But, like Artemis, the night, at its youngest, demands sacrifices in exchange of her favour.

On top of a dark wooden staircase, refined with red enamel and gold foil decorations, an elegant figure merges from the shadows into the warm candlelit hall and slowly descends, making sure the other women, waiting for her at the center of the room, clearly hear the clicking sound of her high heels.

She lets her nails run on the glossy handrail and gently sweeps a light blonde lock of hair from her porcelain face with a fluid movement of her head, as the tail of her light blue silk dress runs down the stairs, following her strut and generating a hypnotic, wave-like movement.

“Ladies” she says in her warmest tone, with a lovable smile drawn on the perfect lips as she greets the other women.

The other three elegantly bow to her to show respect and smile back.

“Solar” the dark-silver haired woman takes a step closer to her “We took care of everything for tonight. My princesses are ready, and so are Hwasa’s fairies. Say the word and we will make sure to bring the best ones down in order to make them pick whoever the gents like the best, as soon as the deal is signed.”

Hwasa nods with her head as the other woman was speaking, to show agreement.

“I made sure to have both of my untouched fairies ready, as well as the other ones, just in case…” Hwasa says, subtly winking at Solar as the words leave her plush and bright red-painted mouth.

“No need to.” The smile has left Solar’s mouth altogether.

“But I thought it would’ve been a good idea to…”

“Did your fairies scream that much last night, Hwasa?”

“I don’t get your point-“

“Then your hearing should be alright, no?” Solar’s tone becomes overly sweet, yet full of glass sharp sarcarsm.

“It could be good money, though.” Cuts in the third woman, Wheein, while reaching for Hwasa’s hand, in an unseen attempt to comfort her and stand by her side. A very poor one: once Solar would make her mind, there is really no point in arguing. “We should look for some profit when we offer to host such events. Those men a filthy rich. I’m sure they can afford to buy-“

“I will _not_ have a fucking mizuage going on in here tonight!” Solar growls at the youngest two. “You two sometimes make me wonder if you ate each other’s brain as well as you do with your pussies. I will not sell those two fairies that easily. Too good for that. We will make sure to make them perform with the Pearl and the Opal in front of those men, but not a finger will be laid on them. I forbid it and that’s my last word on the matter.”

She carefully looks at the others’ faces. Hwasa and Wheein are still holding each other’s hand like they were gripping for dear life, their eyes buried on the ground and lips pursed. She feels some kind of pity for rushing to such a hard reaction at them, but their stubbornness is almost unbearable at times. Moonbyul has her teeth buried so deep in her lower lip it looks like it is about to bleed out at any moment.

Solar gets close to her face and brushes her thumb on Moonbyul’s mouth, as she releases the tight grip of the teeth from her lip. The blonde beauty slowly holds her chin and draws the other woman’s face near, as she just gently complies with the delightfully forced movement, and then closes the gap between their lips with a soft and inaudible kiss.

“Light of my life, don’t torture yourself, please. Sometimes the kids need to be scolded. It doesn’t mean eomma doesn’t love them.”

The smile is back, in its full grace, on Solar’s lips.

“The thing is, dearest delights- she then says, turning to the youngest ones -I have way bigger plans for those pretty fairies. We won’t just sell their virginity to some vulgar delinquents. I have it all figured out already, and you have to believe me when I say it will be grandiose.” The woman’s tone gives away a velvety sense of self complacency.

“How so?” Hwasa asks, raising an eyebrow, switching from scared to intrigued in the blink of an eye: after all, those are her fairies, she needs, and even more desires, to know what Solar has came up with in her mind regarding their mizuage.

“We will have a full-scale auction. I mean to show the two of them off as much as I possibly can and, in a month, we will hold a massive event for those two pretty jewels of ours. We will only invite the wealthiest and most influential clients, the most loyal ones. I have heard how some of them are so desperate for fresh meat they’d be willing to give away a fortune. And we will take a fortune and a half for those fairies, after, of course, making sure the Pearl and the Opal teach them how to make the magic happen.”

Their faces light up with enthusiasm as the plan takes shape flowing out of Solar’s mesmerizing mouth.

She sure is a beauty _and_ a brain.

The thrilling moment is broken only by the bright, loud sound of the doorbell being rang.

“My darlings- Solar says, while elegantly walking towards the entrance of the brothel, one hand on the doorknob -Enough with our chit-chat. We’ll be back on it later. Now we have some guests to greet.”


	2. Era of the Snake: 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoongi loved his Colt. He loved to quote how Americans used to say that “God created men and Colt made them equal”, he loved to feel as if he had been invested with the task to make justice, in his own, sometimes twisted way, in Earth. But that is not the case this time. This time it’s, first of all, a matter survival, it’s about making it out of that place alive and -possibly- with the least collateral damage.
> 
>  
> 
> "You’re not their family. We’re their whores and, yeah, they may be the ones fucking us physically, but this also means we need some weapons to be capable to fuck them back should the chance occur and the money be worth it. Information: that’s what our job is all about. The more, the more sensitive, the more detailed, the better. You need to get smart if you want to survive when hell will break loose.”
> 
>  
> 
> "Power is all about knowledge. Knowledge of desires, secrets, ambitions, perversions. Power is about knowing what the beast wants, how it wants it, when it wants it, but most importantly is about knowing how to satisfy its cravings right before someone else does it in your place."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks!
> 
> Chapter two is here and is -literally- ready to slay!  
> This is when things get really interesting: Namjoon and his gang show up to the meeting and, let me tell you, it's going to have some plot twists.  
> You will be finding some characters you've already met in Chapter one, you will meet a dynamic duo and some very special guests.
> 
> WARNING: READ THIS before proceeding with the chapter. There will be hints to a very sensitive topic in the chapter (at least, it is one for me, I literally got sick while writing that part, but I needed it to be raw). The part I am talking about starts at "What I need you to do is to take care of a new service I want to implement" and ends at "The boy’s eyes have grown wide and are almost filled with tears"  
> ALSO, after that line there will be a definitely graphic scene until the end of the chapter, so if you are easily grossed out by blood and/or violence please keep that in mind.
> 
> I wish you all a pleasant read, and of course, should you enjoy this, please feel free to leave me a comment and/or kudos. 
> 
> Lots of love to you all!

Before we begin, I have made a Twitter account where you will be able to follow the updates, listen to the playlists I make and write to, take a look at what inspires me in the creative process and of course keep in touch with me.

You can find me [here](https://twitter.com/PersephoneRegi1)!

 

# Era of the Snake: 2

 

The car trip is silent.

No one dares to say a word, even though the thoughts of the four men are so loud they’re almost hearable.

Yoongi keeps staring out of the window, while mindlessly scratching the skin around his thumb, pulling the cuticles up with his index fingers and biting them off once they’re lifted up enough.

 _What the hell did we put ourselves into?_ He keeps on thinking. He has always had a very developed instinct for business, that would warn him whether he should or shouldn’t put himself in some circumstances, and tonight he can almost hear it screaming in his mind to get the fuck out of it.

The closer they get, the higher it screams, the harder he scratches, until he is brought back to his senses by a stinging sense of pain coming from his finger.

He looks down and sees his thumb red with blood. Yoongi doesn’t even have the time to ask for a napkin as Namjoon, sitting next to him in the back, hands him his handkerchief.

The silk and linen fabric has a dim glow, and on a corner there’s an embroidery with the letters KNJ.

Yoongi slightly brushes his clean hand on it, letting his thumb indulge on the detail, before wrapping the handkerchief around his wounded hand.

He looks at Namjoon and gives him an awkward smile, only one corner of his mouth lifted.

“Thanks.”

Namjoon smiles back.

“Should some blood be shed tonight, I sure don’t want it to be yours.”

 _Should some blood be shed_ … So he feels it _too_.

“You know that I didn’t mean to be a bitch.”

“I know.” Namjoon nods in agreement. “I don’t like it either, but I wished for you to trust me a little more. After eight years working together you should know me better than that.”

Yoongi frowns his brows in an interrogative expression, suggesting the man to go on.

“Really? You thought I’d walk in that shithole, head-down, being a good boy and complying with whatever deal they’ll suggest?”

Namjoon stares at Yoongi with a smirk and a lifted brow, he doesn’t really want to get in the details and he won’t, but since Yoongi is the eldest and has been such a drag about that whole business from the beginning, giving him a few hints is the least he owes him.

“Namjoon?”

“What now?”

“I’ll have your back.” Yoongi says, loading his Colt as Hoseok parks the car in front of a fancy building.

The architectural elements suggest a recall to Japanese Imperial style, yet the abundance of decorations in red and gold make it look a kitsch imitation of the original idea.

Yoongi loved his Colt. He loved to quote how Americans used to say that “God created men and Colt made them equal”, he loved to feel as if he had been invested with the task to make justice, in his own, sometimes twisted way, in Earth. But that is not the case this time. This time it’s, first of all, a matter survival, it’s about making it out of that place alive and -possibly- with the least collateral damage.

That’s why Namjoon got so mad at him before.

Because for as much as he can rely on Hoseok and Jungkook, the first one is too much of a hothead and the latter has grown very fond on Namjoon and that is all but a good thing.

He is way too forgiving, protective and obliging towards Jungkook, even caring to the point of being worried about his every move.

This is not pretty in any way, it’s an issue.

So Yoongi is really the closest thing to an equal for him and that’s a blessing in this very moment, since they’re going towards an unknown situation and, for as much as Namjoon likes his capability to have every possible scenario already figured out in his mind, he must admit that a plan can only be, at best, 99% safe.

He needs Yoongi for that damn 1%. He needs his instinct because it feels what his rationality can’t.

Most importantly, he needs to know they’re on the same page and playing for the same team, and to do so doubts are not allowed: Namjoon needs Yoongi to trust him.

Hoseok takes a deep breath.

He’s dead nervous, his hands almost slippery with sweat, so much that he must take a moment to himself, pat his palms on his suit’s trousers, shut down the panic attack he can feel growing in the back of his mind, before lifting his gaze to the rearview mirror and do his best to fake a smile.

“Alright, babies, shake your pinkies and make up before we walk into the gangster paradise”

Hoseok speaks and keeps smiling, but there’s a trembling in his voice.

He pretends, like he does, like he’s done most of his life, for such a long time he can’t even really recall when he began to do so, to be alright, but he’s really feeling like he could light up a city with the electricity he has running through his body.

When Hoseok steps out of the car, he has to shake his limbs in an attempt to get relief. It doesn’t really work, but it should be enough to at least avoid being visibly shuddering.

Thank goodness the others don’t pay him much attention, nervous as they are themselves.

Once everyone is out, Namjoon automatically puts his hands in his trousers’ pockets and stretches his neck upward, assuming his signature posture, with his chin pushed up.

He clenches his jaw so hard his teeth almost screech. After sending a last, quick check-up look on his comrades, he starts walking towards the building.

“Let’s start the show.” He says, before ringing the doorbell with a long push of his index on the brass buzzer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Sssht! Can’t you be quiet?” a soft voice whispers in the darkess of a small, internal corridor, obviously upset.

“Oh I’m sorry, Mr. Smooth-like-a-snake, I can’t see shit, how am I supposed to walk in the dark without stumbling?” a deeper one answers, frenzied and even more upset than the first.

“Pff…Whatever, we’re almost there. -the owner of the first voice stops in front of a wall and grabs the hand of the other, pulling down until they’re both sitting on the floor, ears against a rice paper panel. -They haven’t arrived yet.”

“Are you really sure they’ll be in the next room?”

“Yeah, I know for a fact they will. Now listen to me: stay still and don’t say a word, ok? No matter what you hear, you don’t make a sound. We’re here to gather information.” The already soft whispering becomes light as a breath as it flows, like a caress, from a mouth to an ear.

“I don’t know, Jimin, it just doesn’t feel right… What should we do with it anyway? We’re whores, not spies.” The deeper voice is now almost frozen and angry in fear.

Jimin rolls his eyes and inhales, before giving a death glare to his companion.

“Oh how it shows you’re a newbie.” He says in a dramatic tone.

“Really? You’re giving me the sassy treatment?” If Jimin wanted to get on his nerves, he surely was on a damn good path.

“We need information _because_ we’re whores! Taehyung, use those little braincells of yours for a minute: we’re in luck since our tight-ass booties have been untouched and we’ve been both sold to this brothel being virgins, but how long do you really think this will last?”

Jimin has spent there seven years, five of which as a busboy, two as a dancer, and if his mizuage hasn’t been sold yet it was only thanks to Solar, who has forbidden it.

“I know what I have to know about being a whore, and you must believe me: after your pretty ass will be sold, you will need to work on some other skills. You’ve already proven you can sing, which is great and all, but the real money doesn’t come from the shows or from sex. It comes from how much you know about the juicy stuff: who comes and who goes, what do they do, what is their job, what their business is about, who are they loyal to. Because you’re not their family. We’re their whores and, yeah, they may be the ones fucking us physically, but this also means we need some weapons to be capable to fuck them back should the chance occur and the money be worth it. Information, Taehyung: that’s what our job is all about. The more, the more sensitive, the more detailed, the better. You need to get smart if you want to survive when hell will break loose.”

Taehyung listens to Jimin as he speaks, and his eyes get teary. He can feel the fear, the sadness, the anxiety in his voice. He understands what he’s saying, of course, but he can’t avoid feeling a hard grip around his heart: Jimin really has thought it out thoroughly. He wonders what a life his must have been, kicked out of his house so young, sent out on the streets and forced to turn in for help to a brothel’s mistress in order not to end up as a junkie selling blowjobs for meth in a shitty motel. He was so smart, even through desperate times, and Taehyung is so fascinated by the promptness he proved to already have, back when he was just 15. He, instead, was nothing like that during his teenage years. His life was so different and he can’t keep his mind away from the obsessive thought that, if he had been just a little more careful and cleverer, maybe he wouldn’t be there by now.

Nonetheless, he smiles and nods at Jimin.

“Got it. Thank you, Jimin.” He says in a melancholic voice.

“What about?” Jimin is now smiling at him with his glossy, plush lips.

“Everything.” Taehyung says, holding harder on his friend’s hand.

They lean back with their ears towards the thin rice paper wall.

A light shines in the next room and the two boys shiver as one after hearing a sound of footsteps hitting the ground.

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

When Namjoon and the others walk in, they find quite a peculiar crew awaiting for them: four women, dressed up beautifully, are chattering with five men, whilst a small group of quite anonymous thugs is standing in a corner.

The men are not too old, nor do they have massive bodies, yet their suits and jewels are screaming expensiveness.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi as they both frown and turn up their noses: those guys are trying hard, way too hard, almost looking like their game consists in trying to intimidate them by their very looks.

Namjoon leans to reach Yoongi’s ear.

“And you were complaining about me, hyung?”

They snigger right before the blonde woman in the sky-blue dress walks up to them.

“Good evening gentlemen and welcome to the Psyké, a home for love and seduction, which these mesmerizing ladies and I pride ourselves in owning and running. My name is Solar -she says, as she offers her hand at Namjoon to be kissed- and these are Wheein, Moonbyul and Hwasa.”

With a surely long-rehearsed gesture, mimicking the eldest, the other women lean their hands forward, waiting for the newcomers to lightly press a kiss on top of them.

The men comply with the slightly ludicrous ritual: they surely don’t mean to upset the owner of one of the most lucrative brothels around, most definitely not from the very beginning of their meeting.

The other five men don’t need introductions: their reputation precedes them, being one of the most influential and powerful gangs around.

Matter of fact, when they reached out for Namjoon, he was quite astonished: he couldn’t believe they had shaken the waters of the criminal underworld so much to be noticed by the Dragons, and usually these things would end up with two possible scenarios: they could have either been killed by some hitmen or put to the test with some shitty task.

None of those things had happened.

Namjoon got a call on his cellphone and a digitally altered voice ordered him to pick up a paper bag in the trash bin in front of his house. They knew where he lived, and that creeped him out more than any time he had had a gun at his temple. Once he got there, he found an old-ass phone, a Nokia or something, basically a piece of antiquity, and the moment his hands were on it, that stuff rang loud as a bell.

“ _Psyké, 11:11 p.m., 11 November. We want to deal. Be there with your kids._ ”

Namjoon remembers turning around the phone and seeing the silhouette of a dragon carved on the back of the cover.

Not any dragon.

The Dragon.

It was in that moment he knew something big, something he didn’t have the grasp of yet, was going on.

He was lowkey fearful to find out what this whole deal business was all about, and at this point every passing second feels like genuine hot coals torture.

Eventually, the one Namjoon knew as their leader stares at him.

He steps forward, performs a barely hinted bow with the upper part of his body and then leans his right arm in front of him, looking for a handshake.

The man looks at the empty hand, then into his eyes, and in the end he grabs his hand whilst pulling him close in a vigorous hug, as he pats several times Namjoon’s back.

“We’re not really going for formalities, are we, Monster?” he says in a teasing tone.

“Well formalities are your thing, not mine, from what I’ve heard.”

Namjoon doesn’t really feel like being fucked with, but is still willing to try and keep his chill.

“So these must be your kids, uh?”

“They’re my men -Namjoon stresses on the word men with growing annoyance- and since you already know the names how about we skip the pleasantries and get to the point where you tell us what we came here for?”

Fuck. He shouldn’t have said that. Fuck. Splendid. He gave away how eager he was, something he really shouldn’t have done. He just gave him advantage. Namjoon bites his tongue in regret.

“Wow, Monster, I heard you weren’t a talkative one but I hadn’t figured how right the rumors were. Let’s go then. Solar-ssi, do you mind doing the honors?” The man flips a strand of his long hair aside from his face with a nervous headshake.

As she hears her name being called, Solar instantly turns her head towards him and promptly fakes a gentle smile.

“Not at all. If you’d like to follow me...”

Solar gets ahead of them and walks through the baroquely decorated hall and an undetected number of rooms, connected one another by a series of gold foil and stucco encrusted arches, until they reach a red parlor, entirely wallpapered in red damask and golden trimmings.

Her thin fingers slip behind a finely hand-painted separée, folding it on itself and revealing a hatch on the mahogany parquet. As Solar lifts the top of it, a dim, warm light radiates from a tight stair going downwards.

“You might want to mind your head, gents” she playfully says, holding the hem of her dress up as she carefully walks down the stairs.

At the end of it, there is a wide room with a long, crystal-topped, wooden table at the center, set with crystal glasses, decanters filled with wine and platters brimming with fresh fruit.

The four hostesses and the group of thugs take place, standing against the walls of the room, the ones facing the others, while Namjoon and the Dragons’ leader sit down at the opposite heads of the table.

Jungkook sits at Namjoon’s right, Hoseok at his left, Yoongi stands at his back.

The remaining Dragons sit in groups of two at their leader’s right and left side.

“Gentlemen, one last thing, please -Solar’s sweet voice echoes in the room- We are very much honored you chose this place for your reunion, but as much as we enjoy your presence, we even more so enjoy safety. I hope you will be willing to leave all of your weapons on the table. My dearest darlings will pick them up and hand them back to you as soon as you will be finished.”

As Moonbyul and Wheein collect the weapons of the men sitting on the table, Hwasa reached for the thugs with a golden tray in her hands.

“Guys.”

They give her an interrogative look, but she only lifts her brow and pops her mouth.

“You heard the lady, no weapons allowed.” Hwasa says.

The men lazily put their guns on the tray. She is still standing before them.

“All of them. Come on, I don’t want to search you.” Hwasa insists, and they lay down some more guns, knives, tasers and whatnot.

“Good boys.” She says, winking.

“Aren’t you going to join us at the table?” the long-haired man speaks to Yoongi, but he stays still in his marble quietness, his eyes pointed to the wall straight ahead of him, expressionless.

“Well, well, well…what a nicely trained puppy you have there, Monster.” He goes on, now talking to Namjoon.

Hoseok stares at him, apparently calm, but really feeling a sense of anger growing inside of him, so blazing he has to pop his knuckles under the table to keep his shit together and avoid the irresistible need to place a bullet in that jerk’s skull. God, he’d love to watch him beg for his life. He’d love to pull the trigger.

“Enough with this teasing bullshit, _Ji-Yong_.”

Namjoon’s voice is deep and still, but everyone’s eyes are suddenly on him: he just called him by his name. The taunt is blatant and, to his content, Ji-Yong lets slip a startled expression.

“Oh, kiddo, you’re lucky you’re talented -he lets out through his teeth, smirking at the audacity- Down to business then, uh?”

“I’d appreciate that, yes.” Namjoon answers.

Finally the fucker got that they aren’t there for a fucking pissing contest.

Ji-Yong pours himself some red wine and takes a long sip before he decides to speak up.

He stretches his back against the chair’s backrest, putting both of his palms in plain sight on the tables. Those diamond encrusted rings of his glimmer with a soft, golden hue.

“Let me tell you a story, will ya? Let’s say, Monster, there’s a city, somewhere, a really dark, twisted one. A city that during the day looks like a masterpiece of progress and efficiency, but at night… At night it becomes a perverted, disgusting, hungry beast. This beast of a city drinks its children blood and eats their flesh, gets high on the fear of the suffering ones and orgasms on the helpless’ cries. Now let’s say a dragon landed, a long time ago, and submitted this beast. This dragon has been holding it tight in its claws ever since, strangling it when it tried to riot, yet providing everything it needed for its survival. They have grown pretty much symbiotic. The beast demands and the dragon answers. One can’t be without the other. But growth implies an expansion in space and said space is not to be intended as a merely geographic conception. What I am talking about is a metaphorical space, in terms of an extension of power. Do you know what power is about, Monster?”

Ji-Yong looks deep inside Namjoon’s eyes with his pitch-black irises. His gaze is intense to the point of being unbearable, yet Namjoon doesn’t flinch. He feels his chest rising as he breathes, but he knows he has to be still as a spring, no faltering is allowed.

“Apparently you’re dying to tell me” he answers in a warm, intense, almost sexual voice.

“Matter of fact, I am. -Ji-Yong twists his expression in a ghastly smirk- Power is all about knowledge. Knowledge of desires, secrets, ambitions, perversions. Power is about knowing what the beast wants, how it wants it, when it wants it, but most importantly is about knowing how to satisfy its cravings right before someone else does it in your place. How are you liking my story until now?”

“It’s a familiar one, yet very interesting.”

“Now, this is the point where I need you to be on my same page, Monster. The beast is wanting more and I mean to give it what it wants, even though right now many of my… human resources, let’s call them like this, are required elsewhere. I have been watching your little group of fellas and I strongly believe you might be the right men to assist me with this business. You’ve grown fast and you’ve grown strong, to the point you could become an issue, and right now I can’t allow myself to lose such a resource. Back in the days, I would’ve had you killed in your sleep and trust me, I mean it. These ladies here did an amazing job following the four of you and tracing all your movements, your habits, your meeting places, you warehouses for me. But Solar-ssi and I have come up with the decision you’d eventually be more useful alive, so here we are tonight.”

Ji-Yong points with the palm of his right hand at the women standing on his right.

Solar, Hwasa, Wheein and Moonbyul walk at the back of Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook and Yoongi, stretching their bodies over the men’s ones and sinuously caressing them.

Namjoon smiles internally: they might have done a good job following them, sure, but maybe they didn’t get the grasp of the fact that a woman’s body is definitely not what would reel him up.

Suddenly, though, he shivers as he feels the familiar touch of metal against his hand under the table.

Solar rubs her nose against his ear, then proceeds to lick his lobe with her warm, wet tongue and almost inaudibly whispers to him “Stay sharp”. This is definitely unexpected. So she really _is_ a smart one, after all.

They keep on going with their show for a few more seconds, then walk up to serve each other some champagne, Ji-Yong keeping his eyes on them.

Namjoon closes his grip around the gun that Solar has just slipped into his palm, a chill running down his spine. He quickly draws his gaze to Hoseok to find him as much bemused as he is. His guess is those women must’ve a plan.

 _They must know more than we do_.

As suspicious as this whole situation is, Namjoon knows he must play along, even though he doesn’t like it. _Not a bit_.

“What I need you to do is to take care of a _new service_ I want to implement. The beast is hungry and needs some fresh meat, even extra fresh, soft and, most importantly, young. Solar-ssi has been doing an amazing job here, with her pretty princesses, but there’s this little flaw of her: she has morals, and she’s not willing to cross a certain line. I don’t want to argue with her, since she’s such a precious friend of mine, nonetheless I don’t mean to be stopped with my projects either. That’s why I will soon be opening some very special places, where the clients will have the chance to play with some really cute puppies…” Ji-Yong lets his words linger in the air.

As he finishes the sentence, Jungkook and Hoseok look at each other as if they were checking if they got it right, turning pale as sheets as they catch up with the real meaning of that whole sentence.

Namjoon has to struggle to push back a sense of nausea, almost gagging at the bare thought of that whole perspective.

“We’re talking about trafficking in human beings?” he forces to be as impassible as he humanly can, but his heart is throbbing and adrenaline is pumping through his body so strong that the vein on his neck starts to visibly pulsate.

“That, and much more. I want you to take care of the brothel where I will store my baby bitches. Make the most profit out of it. There will be both girls and boys, we’ll bring them from Thailand, China, India, Africa, Russia, the whole fucking repertoire, name a third-world Country, we’ve already got hands there. I’m sure it won’t be too hard of a job, they’ll be young, we’ll have them in a range from 6 to 18 years old. If they won’t behave, discipline them. I don’t care how. And if some of them shouldn’t make it through the training… Well, we still have that whole organ harvesting thing going on, so I guess… we’ll just _recycle_.” Ji-Yong breaks out in a loud laughter with his comrades, a laughter that is so inhuman, so foul it gives Jungkook the creeps.

The boy’s eyes have grown wide and are almost filled with tears. He’s desperate, disgusted, filled with regret and scared to the bone. Namjoon has to slide his free hand to Jungkook’s knee and grab it tightly.

He would like to tell him that it’s all going to be fine, but the sound of a gunshot breaks the noise of the laughter and while everybody’s eyes are looking around the room to find out where it came from.

What follows is a second that seems to last for hours.

Solar is standing with her legs barely apart one from the other and her hands both wrapped around a steel and mother-of-pearl gun she must’ve had hidden God knows where, her breath making a faint huffing noise, almost like the one of silk sheets being rubbed one against the other.

“I said -she mutters- no child prostitution.”

Moonbyul rushes quickly at her back to push her away: the Dragons’ thugs are running towards her in an immediate impetus for vengeance, and that’s when Namjoon recalls her words – “ _Stay sharp_ ”- bringing him back to reality from the nightmarish scenario he is finding himself into.

_Fuck._

The two Dragons who were sitting closer to the women throw their chairs on the ground and in a flash are running towards them, and to their surprise, Hwasa runs towards them as well, a keris in her hand.

“Love! Don’t!” Wheein screams, fearing for her partner’s life, shouting louder as she gets grabbed by the waist by one the Dragons’ men and being pulled away from her friends.

Another gunshot is fired, but this time from a much closer position to Namjoon’s.

Hoseok is standing in all of his height, his arm perfectly motionless and his aim flawless: he fires two more bullets and hits the man who tried to grab Wheein and two more who followed after him, trying to assault their hostesses, then proceeds to help her standing up. Wheein is a bunch of nerves, all shivering, her beautiful, silk dress, stained with blood, thankfully not her own.

Hoseok grabs her hands and lifts her up, close to his chest, his previously fierce expression melts into a lovely, gentle smile.

“Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to scare you -Hoseok says- Now if you’ll forgive me…”

He turns around as an inhuman scream leaves the body of one of the Dragons, a red haired one.

He’s one of those Hwasa was running against, and whatever he was thinking, he hadn’t taken into consideration that, for smaller that she might be, this could’ve turned out to her advantage. He went for her neck, but she ducked fast enough to end up under his chest and gut him open, from his groin to his throat. The lifeless body falls onto her in all of its weight, and it takes her a great deal of effort to push him aside. Hwasa merges showered in blood, panting in excitement and with a sinister grin.

 _She must’ve done it before_ , Hoseok thinks, _she’s not even scared_. _She’s in berserk_.

But there’s not much time to be in awe, though, because the second Dragon has caught up on her.

That’s when Hoseok shoots again, this time being fully enraged and pretty much discharging his loaded gun on the man, aiming to his chest.

“Can we remember ladies mustn’t be touched, not even with a flower?” He helps Hwasa standing back up, this time, his fingers get all slippery when they meet her ones, soaked in blood and other fluids. “And by the way, I’m the flower.”

Hoseok winks, unable to let go of his usual playful and humorous attitude.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, cringing, and says “Hoseok, can you not?”

The fact is, of course Hoseok could not. He just doesn't want to give up on this side of himself: it's the one that has been keeping him alive.

The fight is all but finished and now the only thought Namjoon has in his mind is that to keep Jungkook safe. He doesn’t want him to be involved, he doesn’t want his hands to be stained, his instinct of protection can only grow when he sees some of the thugs going towards them and Jungkook’s hand loosely shake around the gun.

 _Please, please, please, anything but him, please_ , he prays to himself, bringing his free hand to wrap around the small, silver, moon-shaped charm of his necklace and holding it tight one last time before getting into action. Namjoon hits one of the legs of the chair where Jungkook is sitting hard enough to make him stumble down with it, then he hops over and stands tall to make cover for Jungkook with his body, facing those men alone. In the blink of an eye he fires his semi-automatic Cabot, taking out the five men.

What he doesn’t notice quickly enough is that the two remaining Dragons are heading for him and his friends. Almost in slow motion, he can see the crystal sharp movement of Yoongi’s finger pulling the trigger of the Colt, glimmering in the warm light with its steel shine, and before the man can dodge the golden bullet is already traveling all the way through the soft organic tissues of his throat. It goes in and never comes out, probably remaining stuck in one of the vertebrae.

Namjoon’s being plain stupid, and he knows, but he can’t help to turn around and check if the boy is fine.

The very moment his eyes meet the ones of Jungkook, he feels a heavy impact on his chest. Namjoon closes his eyes, ready for the impact on the floor, a sharp pain hits the back of his head. For a moment, everything is dark and confused, his chest feels burdened and he’s almost out of breath.

Then, he hears a squishing sound, followed by a phlegmatic coughing and shallow gurgling.

He can’t get up.

He can’t open his eyes.

His head is pulsating with ache.

He starts to feel wet and warm all over his torso.

Has he been stabbed? Namjoon can’t tell, he doesn’t really feel any pain, but it might be the adrenaline.

He has been stabbed before, he would know.

As his limbs start again to respond to his brain, he tries to touch his chest and he clearly feels a body laying over his own.

It is wet.

It is warm.

It is… dead.

Eventually, Namjoon manages to open his eyes. The last one of the Dragons is sprawled out on him. He looks around, startled. Moonbyul is kneeling next to him and meets his eyes, busy as she is pulling a silver dagger out of the man’s back.

The only sound lingering in the room is a symphony of breaths.

Hoseok and Yoongi put their guns away and get to help Namjoon, still trapped under the bleeding corpse, to sit on a chair. He touches the nape of his head. When his fingers are back in his line of sight, they’re stained with his own, red blood.

“Solar-ssi, I beg your pardon, but I believe you owe me one hell of an explanation about all of this.” Namjoon murmurs.

Solar walks up to the table and sits right next to him, tapping her nails on the table’s smooth surface.

“Indeed, Kim Namjoon, I believe I do.”


	3. Era of the Snake: 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin caresses Taehyung’s cheeks and pats his forehead dry with his own robe, as he makes a vow to anything dear to him that he’ll try even harder to protect his most precious friend.
> 
> “Tae, it’s me, Jimin -he murmurs- You need to wake up.”
> 
> Taehyung slowly opens up his eyes, lids slightly fluttering, and takes a long glare at Jimin’s smiling face, cheeks of pink dawn and eyes made of night sky.
> 
>  
> 
> -
> 
> Namjoon can’t help himself and feels the urge to see who the voice belongs to, so he turns his head in a rushed movement, probably too bold of him in his conditions, since a stabbing pain starts irradiating all over the back of his head and neck from the injured spot; nonetheless the vision is worth all the suffering in the world: the most handsome man he’s ever laid eyes upon is right there, standing tall at the entrance of the room. His lean figure is elegantly hugged by a lustrous blue, silken robe, decorated with a fine white embroidery and silver trimmings, and his neck and chest adorned by a cascade of pearl necklaces, of different lengths and colors, from white, to silver, to grey, to black ones, and still the miraculous glow of his marble skin outshines all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dearest darlings!
> 
> Here we are with Chapter three: it's been a very intense creative process for me, since it's completely different from the previous ones.  
> This time you better be ready to get soft and emotional, because we'll start to dive into two of the most meaningful relationships of this work.
> 
> I have tried my very best to keep the action going even with so many feelings going on, so please be forgiving if the narration is not the best, but I promise I will get better at it.
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts about it, and as always feel free to reach out for me on twitter @ PersephoneRegi1 or in the comment section, and if you enjoy this you might want to leave your kudos, that would mean so much to me!
> 
> Have a pleasant read.
> 
> Lots of love to you all!

Before you read, please remember that you can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/PersephoneRegi1) and keep up with moodboards and playlists inspired by the story!

 

# Era of the Snake: 3

# 

 

In the darkness of the corridor, the two boys are holding tight one another.

When Taehyung heard the first gunshot, he had the instinct to scream, but Jimin couldn’t have them being discovered: they should have never been there in the first place and things could have only gone worse if someone found out they had witnessed what was going on, so he was quick to shut his friend’s mouth, placing his hand over it with a harsh movement. 

“Shush, Tae, for God’s sake!” he whispered, with his big, glistening eyes, as he moved next to him and hugged him tight with his free arm.

For as much as Jimin tries not to give it away, he is frozen in shock and scared as hell. He didn’t even feel when Taehyung bit his hand to restrain himself from crying out loud. He can’t feel anything at all, he just sits on the ground, mindlessly holding the younger next to his chest and staring at the wall in front of himself.

He is awakened from his alienation by a wet, warm sensation on the hand and automatically turns his head to see what’s happening.

Taehyung is shaking convulsively and, even though he doesn’t make any sound, hot streams of tears are running down his reddened cheeks and wetting Jimin’s hand. His eyes are burning and his lashes soaked with teardrops. He wishes he could stop himself, but he can’t, and yet the more he cries, the more pain he feels, until his mind turns blank and he feels the urge to shut his eyes and pushes Jimin away with all of the strength in his body, opening his mouth in a silent scream and choking on his own tears, as he wraps his arms around himself and crawls on the ground in a fetal position.

The breakdown only gets worse. 

His body is on the brink of a seizure and he cannot breathe anymore, it’s almost as if he has a massive weight on his chest and any struggle to gasp for air seems to be vain, while a knot in his throat gags him.

Suddenly, Taehyung’s golden skin turns pale, almost with a grey hue, sweat dripping by every pore and soaking clothes and hair.

Jimin doesn’t know what he is supposed to do. 

He’s scared, he’s worried about Taehyung, about himself, about what just happened in the next room, about being discovered, and, most relevant, he doesn’t know how to behave in the current situation. Should he stay there? Or it’d be better if he went and looked for help? Should he intervene in any way?

Jimin has never seen anything like that, no one of the people he knew had ever experienced such a thing, and a heartfelt terror pervades him when he sees it happen to the only one person he could really call a friend. 

Sure, he and Tae have only known each other for a few months, but they have had a special bond from the very beginning, and Jimin has been so lonely his whole life… Being constantly rejected, pushed away, looked down upon has left him so scarred and wounded he just can’t afford to lose the only person he’s ever truly felt a connection with.

Jimin knows that if he won’t do anything, no one else will. 

No one knows they’re there. 

No one will come to help them. 

He’s the best chance Taehyung has in this very moment, so he moves on instinct. 

He quickly rolls on his knees and pins Taehyung on the wall, holding him, still and straight, by his shoulders.

“Tae!” he says “Tae, listen to me, it’s Jimin, don’t black out, ok? Tae, do you hear me? Fucking nod if you hear me.” 

Jimin lightly slaps Taehyung’s cheeks, trying to keep him conscious. 

The latter has his head bent back, eyes closed, only opening his mouth wider trying to breathe in and choking on his own saliva with muttered gurgles.

“Tae, tell me that you can hear me!” 

The grip on his shoulders become a grasp, as Jimin shakes him more and more vigorously.

“Tae please… _please_ ” 

Jimin’s voice is broken by a faint sobbing. 

He is so lost. 

It is all his fault. 

This is all because of him being a stupid, greedy, selfish thing. 

If only he had been more considerate, if only he could have predicted what was coming he would have never brought Taehyung with him. 

_What the hell was he thinking?_

Not only he had put both of them in danger, he had also been incapable to foresee that what he involved his only friend in could have had such consequences. 

_“This is the problem with you, Jimin: you never think.”_. 

He still hears his mother’s words in his mind, stabbing his chest like knives, hurting as the first time. 

“What’s wrong with me… Why do I have to be like this?” he says to himself, while he instinctually hugs Taehyung tight, sweetly rocking him back and forth in his arms and caressing his back with a light and gentle touch.

They stay like this for an undefined amount of time, Jimin keeps caressing Taehyung’s back and runs his small fingers through the short hair on the nape of his head. 

He’s trying not to think of the worst, even though he can’t stop the tears from falling.

He can’t give up on hope just yet. 

So he tries to do the only thing that usually helps him when his mind drifts towards the darkest places of his soul: he sings. 

He sings in a whisper, his mouth close to Taehyung’s ear; sometimes he can’t remember the words so he just hums them, and other ones come out broken by his sighs, but he never stops, and when the song is over, he just starts again in an endless loop, praying internally for Taehyung to wake up, to see his smile again, to look into his lively eyes, to laugh with him, to go back to their everyday life. 

That imperfect, sad and wrecked life, which still is fine for those like them. 

That life they have been sharing together, made of running errands, helping the elder boys, learning songs and dances to perform for the clients until they would both ended tired and voiceless after practicing for entire days, non-stop; made of sewing their own clothes and costumes, of fixing each other’s hair and make up every evening, of sleeping in the same room, sometimes even in the same bed, when they would stay up until too late and just fall asleep holding each other. 

That life they led sharing their memories, their experiences, their struggles. 

That life they led laughing together, praising and encouraging one another, dreaming of the day they could be free and get away from the brothel to live freely, but never again parted. 

That life Jimin is going to miss so desperately if Taehyung won’t wake up.

That life that gives a meaning to their existences.

Taehyung opens his eyes in a fissure, his eyesight blurry and only hearing a muffled whisper in the back of his head. 

He must have passed out. 

How long has he been unconscious? 

He flutters his lids, trying to focus, and a smell that he’s become acquainted with hits his nose. 

Jimin’s smell. 

Peach blossoms and almond. 

He inhales and it is such a relief when the air fills up his lungs. 

“Jimin?”

Slowly, his breath becomes more regular and he regains consciousness: he feels Jimin holding him, he feels his touch on his back, his little whimpers, his warm skin.

“Tae?!?”

Jimin is shook. 

His eyes widen as soon as he hears Taehyung’s voice and his heart skips a beat. 

He pulls apart from the hug, still holding the other one by his shoulders, to check if this is just a dream or if it’s really happening, if Tae really is alive and well and speaking to him.

“Oh dear God, thank you! I was so scared Tae -the boy dries his eyes with the sleeve of his robe- I was terrified!”

Jimin hugs him again, this time almost crushing his friend in his arms, burying his head in Taehyung’s chest and deeply inhaling the santal scent of his skin.

“Jimin I-I’m so sorry, I… I don’t know what happened to me…”

Taehyung rubs his palm on his eyes to wipe away the dried tears and then runs it through his hair, his elbow pinned on his thigh.

“You kind of had a meltdown and… And then I guess you passed out. It was nightmarish, I swear, I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know how to help you… I thought you wouldn’t make it.”

The two boys’ eyes meet. 

Taehyung then grabs Jimin’s hands and holds them in the grasp of his ones.

“I am so sorry, Jimin…”

“What are you even sorry for?”

“Making you worry about me?” Taehyung’s deep voice pierces Jimin straight through the heart and he serves the former an intensely heartbroken glare.

“Don’t you ever say anything like that to me again. -Jimin pushes himself dangerously closer to Taehyung’s face and whispers even softer than before- I will always worry about you.”

They both hint a smile at each other, then Jimin cups Taehyung’s face in his hands, frowning his brows.

“No, listen: we need to get out of here and go back to our room, we’re not safe. I know I am asking a lot of you right now, but do you think that maybe you can walk?”

Taehyung nods. 

“Yes, I believe I do.”

“Ok then. Let me help you out.” 

Jimin stands up in an elegant twirl on himself and offers his hand to lift up Taehyung, who accepts it and helps himself up, not as effortlessly as the former. 

“Jimin?” he whispers.

“Uh?”

“Thank you.”

They walk throughout the whole corridor, slowly, hand in hand, and even though Taehyung’s walk is wobbly and he keeps stumbling, they reach a wooden, narrow stair and start climbing it up. 

When they get to the top of it, though, they are dumbfounded by the presence of a familiar figure. The man is standing with his back against the wall and a lantern in his hand, whose reddish light flatteringly beams upon his ephebic traits and perfectly contrasts his piercing, light blue eyes.

“Well, well. I hope the two of you have a more than convincing explanation for this completely inappropriate escapade.” His tone is angered and agitated, yet his face shows all of his concern.

“I-I’m sorry Diamond” Jimin starts to speak, but he immediately earns himself a death glare from the other man.

“Seriously, Jimin?” he rolls his eyes and smoothly lifts his back from the wall. “That’s only for clients, so you either pay or keep that fucking name out of your pretty mouth -He brushes his thumb over Jimin’s lips and bites his own- Understood?”

“Yes Taemin, I didn’t mean it. It just came out wrong.” 

Jimin lowers his head and stares at the ground, concerned and frightened about the possible consequences. 

He has known Taemin for a while now, but he was already working as a performer when Jimin joined as a simple busboy, meaning that he had his own room and private bathroom, where he would sleep, eat and prepare himself for the gigs alone, and furthermore he never really spoke a lot to many people. 

Taemin was quite the mystery around the _Psyké_ , since he would only spend his time exercising for his performances or taking care of his pet snakes, Phobos and Thanos, which he religiously kept in a large terrarium inside his room. Jimin could’ve sworn he heard him talk to them sweeter than he could have ever been found doing with human beings, and he would watch him in admiration as he practiced his choreographies meticulously.

When Jimin’s training begun, he perfectly remembered how nervous he was when he found that it would have been him to give him dance and singing lessons: he knew what a perfectionist Taemin was and how hard he would’ve had to work. 

Jimin always did his best to please him and to prove him how consistent and determined he could be, and soon enough him and Taemin were on the same page, as for technique and synergy. 

There surely was a lot of chemistry between the two of them when it came to perform, so much that they had come up with a series of routines they would do together during the gigs, yet they didn’t talk any more than the bare necessary to assemble those exhibitions and to coordinate each other better, or when Taemin had to correct Jimin’s movement, or give him suggestions. 

Taemin never really had to scold him, anyway, and Jimin was sure that, even if sometimes he might have tested his patience when he couldn’t catch up the choreographies quick enough, or learn the lyrics perfectly, or hit the right notes all the times, the temper of Taemin would be such a gentle, kind hearted and thoughtful one that he just couldn’t be rude: most of the time he’d just let out a light sigh, smile dearly and go back to the point Jimin had mistaken, repeating it for as many times as he needed to get it perfect.

_Taemin is a true darling._

That’s all Jimin can think of now, repeating this phrase over and over again in his mind, trying to make it resonate in every possible area of his brain, louder and louder, hoping that if he does it enough it’ll be true. 

True enough o keep him and Taehyung safe.

_Taemin is a true darling_.

“Come on, we can talk about this another time. I’ll escort the two of you back to your rooms, and if anyone asks, the three of us have been rehearsing together the whole time.”

“D-do you mean that… That you’ve been waiting for us? This whole time?” 

Jimin is completely flustered.

“Well, of course I did! I heard your footsteps on the corridor and I wondered what the hell you two had in mind, so I followed you and waited upstairs for you to come back. What was I supposed to do? Ignore you? What if someone came looking for one of you? I thought that, if I went missing, too, I would have been able to give a more believable explanation to our absence than any pathetic excuse you two could have possibly came up with. That’s why I will demand the truth, when we’ll talk about this whole thing. I am risking my ass here, for you, so you owe it to me. And thank your lucky stars that Jin is on duty tonight, or he would’ve been a pain in the ass. Now let’s get going before I regret this.”

Taemin nervously looks around, checking for any movement around the corridor, then turns to the boys and signals them to follow him.

They sneak in the shadow, trying to stay as much as possible away from the candlelit areas of the corridor. 

Taehyung is still breathing unevenly and feels kind of dizzy, but the warmth and the grip of Jimin’s hand on his own are enough to make him walk the best way he can pull off and overcome the exhaustion. 

When they reach the small door to their room, Taemin opens it up for them and allows Jimin and Taehyung to walk in first. 

Jimin helps immediately Taehyung to get on his bed, fluffing the pillows for him to lay more comfortably and covering him with a silk shroud, and afterwards walks up to Taemin with an embarrassed yet thankful expression.

“You really didn’t have to do all of this for us, you know.” he says in his sweetest voice.

“And what was I supposed to do? Let you do your thing and watch you end up in deep shit?” the older one serves him a lovely amused smirk, pinching Jimin’s cheek, who is anything but smiling right now.

“I need my partner for the next exhibition, you know?”

Jimin frowns. 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, pay it no mind right now -Taemin adds, then points his index finger in a fluid and almost lazy movement to Taehyung- Listen, what’s wrong with him? Does he need anything?” Now he’s whispering to Jimin’s ear, in order to let the other boy rest peacefully.

“I don’t really know…I don’t know what happened to him -Jimin can still see his friend collapsing, shaking, crying, choking on his breath in his mind, and he has to squint his eyes trying to make it stop, for it’s too hurtful, too frightening and too traumatic- All I know for sure is he passed out a certain point.”

“Ok listen, this is what we’ll do. I’ll go downstairs in the kitchen and grab something to eat. Stay here and try to keep him awake until I get back.”

Taemin is right about to leave, when he feels something holding his arm and turns around gracefully, golden hair gently brushing on his forehead and long, curved lashes.

“Why are you doing this?” Jimin asks, holding Taemin and feeling his soft skin under his palm.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks back, astonished.

“Why would you?”

Jimin would love to trust him, and even though he has been repeating himself, until a couple minutes ago, how Taemin seemed such a true darling, now it’s time for him to prove to be one. 

“Jimin, I may not be the most outgoing one in here. But I’m a decent human being, and possibly a nice person with those I like. I’m sorry if I ever came across as untrustworthy, I promise I’m just trying to help. -Taemin leans closer to Jimin’s face- Not everyone here wants to screw over you, you know? Now, let me go, will you? Or you’re just going to leave him like that and hope for the best?”

It’s not like he has many alternatives, to be honest, so Jimin lets go of his hold around Taemin’s arm and goes back to lay next to Taehyung on his bed.

His forehead is beading with drops of sweat, but the breath is calm and he looks so peaceful.

Jimin runs his fingers through Taehyung’s hair, they’re smooth, soft, a bit sweaty on the roots, but nonetheless touching it is so satisfying. 

He lifts the corners of his mouth in a loving smile andindulges on the pleasing thought of seeing his friend rest so peacefully, out of trouble, out of harm, finally safe and back to his true self. 

Jimin caresses Taehyung’s cheeks and pats his forehead dry with his own robe, as he makes a vow to anything dear to him that he’ll try even harder to protect his most precious friend.

“Tae, it’s me, Jimin -he murmurs- You need to wake up.”

Taehyung slowly opens up his eyes, lids slightly fluttering, and takes a long glare at Jimin’s smiling face, cheeks of pink dawn and eyes made of night sky. 

He can’t help but think about how absurd it is that this marvelous boy in front of him has been hurt so deep and, still, is capable to show the brightest side of himself to the world. He would like to be able to turn back time and prevent Jimin from any possible evil, to meet him in his early life and stand by his side through thick and thin, to give him all the love he was deprived of in order to allow him to outshine any darkness he might have to face.

Unluckily, Taehyung can’t do nothing like that, but he can try to do his best to make up for everything life has put Jimin through, or so he wishes in this very moment, while floating deep among the constellations in his eyes. 

Because he was there when he needed him to be.

He didn’t give up.

He didn’t leave him.

He held him tight and kept him safe in his arms, and all Taehyung wishes to do is to be able to hold him as well when time of need will come.

“Of course it’s you, or I’d be screaming if I woke up to a man in my bed.” he jokes, and they both laugh merrily, lacing his pretty, long fingers through Jimin’s tiny ones.

They end up lying one in front of the other, playing, tickling each other and giggling like little kids, innocently and tenderly, and it looks almost as if they have a silent deal to keep out of their minds what they’ve been through that night, what they have heard, what has happened at a few centimeters of distance from them. 

Maybe the trauma hasn’t kicked in their minds yet.

Maybe the happiness to have gotten away harmless from that hell is still too much for them to realize the weight of the events.

Maybe they’re terrified that the shocking noises of guns being fired and of people screaming and dying and gurgling blood will never stop playing in the back of their heads, so that greedily treasuring the sound of laughter and the sight of each other is the only way to keep them bay.

There will be plenty of time to think and talk about it: when you live in a brothel you have to learn how to cherish any happy moment and live it to the fullest, so that you’ll have something to hold on to to survive the horror, the disgust, the estrangement. 

This one is exactly what they would both call a happy moment.

And they’ll dearly hold it close to their hearts.

 

 

* * *

 

“May I call a doctor for that wound, Namjoon?” 

Solar has noticed Namjoon’s injury is still bleeding, streams of red running down his golden alabaster neck and soaking the linen shirt.

“As long as we speak first. I won’t get out of this room until you tell me what the fuck do you think you’re doing.”

Namjoon may be wounded and hurting, but he is furious on the inside and ready to stab a bitch, should he need to do it. 

That’s not how he deals, nor how he leads his business. 

This little trick is going to turn out in a humongous pain in the ass, he already knows, and the mistress is better be convincing or she’ll soon join the fucking dragons on the floor. 

Too bad for the dress. 

Must’ve been expensive.

“I mean it, Solar. You either open up that venomous mouth of yours and sing me the song of your people, or you can be sure I won’t be a gentleman as my man Hoseok, here.”

His voice is a deep, threatening growl.

But Solar is not stupid and she understands who she can fuck with and who’s better not to upset.

She turns to her three friends and makes a lazy gesture with her hand to dismiss them.

“Dearest darlings, would you mind leaving the adults alone, please? And before you go -she makes a pause- That was wonderfully done.”

Solar turns her intense gaze to Namjoon.

“Your turn, big guy.” she chants in a honey-coated tone.

Namjoon pushes on the table with his palms to help himself up and then grabs Solar by the nape of her head, with a firm grip over her silky soft blonde hair, and reclining his chest towards her while pulling her close, almost as if he went for a kiss.

He plants his hellfire blazing eyes in the light grey pools of her irises, which are now glistening in fear and adrenaline.

“Listen carefully because I’m a man who doesn’t like to say things twice. Quit the slutty shit this moment, it doesn’t have any power over me. If you want to sit at the grown-ups’ table, pull your shit together and make sure you speak only if what you’re about to say is either true, useful or smart. These are the rules, you abide by them or I’m leaving this shit hole and never coming back.” 

Solar’s expression is inscrutable.

She is scared, no more than she’s been in other circumstances of her life, but this fear is unknown to her: it is a mix of anxiety, apprehension, astonishment and respect. 

Solar feels deeply and completely naked like she hasn’t felt in a long time: it’s as if the man standing before her sees right through all of her defenses, her coping mechanisms, her behaviourmental finery and is exposing her for the huge bluff she is.

Namjoon eventually lets go of his grip and seats back in front of her.

“They stay. -He points with his head at Yoongi, Hoseok and Jungkook, and invites them with a hand gesture to join him and Solar at the blood stained table.- I like to think of them as a form of life insurance,you know?”

“Well, I don’t need one. You’re in my house right now. Should anything happen to me, you won’t make it out of here alive.” She serves her best smile to the men in the room, the air in the room is electric with tension.

“So, do you want to explain what happened tonight or do you want me to guess?” Namjoon is sliding into a darker yet colder and more rational mood.

“I was going to tell you, but since you asked me, I would very much enjoy to hear your take on the events.”

Solars stands up and walks to a liquor cabinet in a corner of the room, bringing back to the table five glasses of scotch on the rocks and serves them to her guests, keeping the last one for herself.

No one touches the drinks, though, Yoongi and Hoseok look at her with a suspicious frown, while Jungkook just stares interrogatively at the glass, absent minded. 

Namjoon shakes his drink in circular motions, holding it by its top edge, as the ice makes a muted cackling sound. He never takes his eyes off or their host: he’s trying to weigh all of her actions and expressions in his mind to frame her personality, so that he’ll be able to make the most out of his knowledge.

Reading people is one of his best talents, most probably the most useful one, to be fair, and Solar is sure an experienced pretender, but not skilled enough to hide from him.

“I think you wanted this meeting to happen. So you convinced Ji-Yong that we would make an interesting asset to his business, maybe even convinced him it was his idea to begin with. You’ve got those skills, I can see that. I also think you’ve had us being stalked for way longer than what you made Ji-Yong believe, to make sure you got your facts straight about me and my group of gentlemen, as if you were checking a financial investment before committing. You’re smart, Solar, very smart and patient. You’ve probably been around the Dragons for a while and you must have had plenty of chances to study their businesses, their traffics, the dynamics of their money laundering, wherever they had their hands in, you made sure to have your eyes focused on. You have learnt quickly and it didn’t take you too long to figure that Ji-Yong had begun to lose his mind these days: we knew ourselves how reckless and thirsty for an even greater power he was getting. But you must have seen and known so much more than we did and, as he said, you might be a mistress, but you’re a conscientious one, you’ve got morals, and you have started to weave your deadly web around him the moment you heard about the perspective of child prostitution, which makes me believe you’ve been abused as a kid and, seen how protective you are towards your girls here, tells me that your motherly instinct is projected towards preventing others to suffer your same fate.”

Solar takes a long sip of her drink to loosen up the knot of nerves her body has become listening to the deep, calm, piercing voice of Namjoon.

Her chest is visibly vibrating with every breath she exhales, skin covered with light shivers.

A single, crystalline tear evades the serrated grip of her self control and runs down the dewy skin of her face, tracing its silent path from the inner corner of her eye, to the side of her rosy mouth, to her chin, falling fast to melt into the satin dress.

Solar swallows her sip of scotch. _Where does he want to get at?_

“So you take the chance of this meeting to get rid of the trash and gamble everything. It was always you who wanted to deal with us. This whole rendezvous has been studied, organized and led by you to achieve what you wanted: putting an end to Ji-Yong’s madness once and for all, eradicating the Dragons’ gang and getting yourself the one you believe will make a more powerful and smart ally, with your guidance of course. So you gain more influence over the city, more freedom with your business, protection and become the undiscussed queen of the underworld. How am I doing until now?”

Namjoon doesn’t really need an answer: he knows he got all of his facts straight, but the satisfaction to keep Solar on hot coals is irresistible. 

_Ah, the simple pleasures of life._

Solar stays quiet, she just crosses her arms and curls her lips.

“Now, my question is: what do I gain if I decide to shove myself in such a fine mess? You must’ve had an offer ready for me since you’re aware I don’t do charity.”

“Oh, Namjoon, you think you’re so clever and then completely miss the relevant part? -Solar says in an unimpressed tone- Sure, all that you’ve said till now is correct, except for one thing: I don’t want any more power than I already do. I am good: the _Psyké_ is more than enough for me and of all the sins than I can be found guilty of, greed is the least likely one. I like balance. I like tranquillity. I like safety. Ji-Yong was becoming, as you understood yourself, too risky of an investment for me to rely on. But you… You and your men are efficient, clean, quick, respectful of deals and performant. You’re young, motivated, focused, and most importantly you have been able to make a name for yourselves in a short time: fairness seems to be a quality you live by. I have never wanted to be a queen, but I am most determined to place a crown on that brilliant head of yours. I have the necessary experience to advise you with, the knowledge of how business is ran in the high spheres and an endless list of contacts to treat you with, should you say yes. All I am asking for is protection for me, my beloved darlings and the rest of the girls and boys working here, who are equally dear to my heart, and the pledge that you will maintain the status quo or consult with me about any innovation. I promise I can be an exceptionally accommodating partner and, it seems to me, a very reasonable one. So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”

The woman bends forward with her shoulders, one elbow pinned on the table and the other arm extended with her hand ready to receive Namjoon’s one in a shake.

Namjoon seeks for the expressions of his friends, before answering. Jungkook looks at him with widened pupils, biting his lips, eager to see how the whole situation will end up; Hoseok gazes back at Namjoon and nods once, with a firm movement of his head, his eyes burning with determination; then the last and most decisive confirm comes from Yoongi, who repays the leader’s inquisitive glance with an approving smirk and subtly bobbing his head.

Only then Namjoon turns his attention to Solar, who has stayed perfectly still in her position, and gives her a vigorous handshake. 

“Deal.” He says, and Solar gleefully smiles, lifting up one corner of her mouth with satisfaction.

“Now, let me teach you one first, fundamental lesson, young king: deals are never really sealed without some champagne and a toast.”

“God forbid.” he remarks.

Solar then wraps her hand around a golden silk rope hanging against the entrance of the room and pulls it firmly a few times.

A couple minutes later, a tall and slender male figure stands on the doorstep, but doesn’t stay long enough for Namjoon to clearly see who it might be.

He only hears Solar whispers to him a quick message and him replying “At once, noona” before leaving.

All Namjoon gets the glimpse of is the ultramarine blue color of the robe he’s wearing, a hem of it flutters, gleaming under the golden light of the lanterns, as it follows the quick swirl the man makes to go back on his steps and out of the room. 

Probably Japanese silk, he thinks.

It’s enough to have Namjoon hooked: he keeps hearing that velvet smooth, caressing, soft, intense voice, that “ _At once, noona_ ”, that didn’t sound as a response to an order but rather as a nightingale’s humming.

“I called my physician, he will be here in a few moments to look after that wound of yours.”

Solar has changed her attitude almost completely, Namjoon can notice that. 

She’s becoming friendly and has gotten rid of that challenging hue in her voice.

“Thank you very much, Solar-ssi.” 

“Weren’t we talking about champagne and a toast?” Hoseok suddenly barges in, with his bright presence and holding five flute glasses between his fingers.

Solar lets out a lighthearted, genuine laughter, politely covering her mouth with the palm of her right hand, as soon as she hears this.

“We surely were! Allow me to take the bottle.”

She swiftly walks towards a side corridor and comes back after a few seconds with a silver bucket, filled with ice and with a large, dark green bottle topped with golden decorations, planted in the middle. 

Solar leaves it in front of Namjoon, who tears the golden sealing foil with his nails and pops the cork with a firm hit at the bottom of the bottle.

The champagne starts to overflow in a sparkling, zesty smelling, soft foam, and is poured by a widely smiling Namjoon in the glasses.

He lifts his one and everyone else follows his movement, awaiting for his words.

“To courage and honor!” Namjoon says.

“To courage and honor!” The others answer in a loud, cheerful choir.

They all swallow the champagne in one sip, and go on drinking more, until the bottle is empty and Solar goes to grab another one. 

The moment she comes back, there is a loud knock and Namjoon hears the nightingale sing again.

“Noona, Doctor Oh has arrived. May I let him in?” He sounds gentle and dainty. 

Namjoon can’t help himself and feels the urge to see who the voice belongs to, so he turns his head in a rushed movement, probably too bold of him in his conditions, since a stabbing pain starts irradiating all over the back of his head and neck from the injured spot; nonetheless the vision is worth all the suffering in the world: the most handsome man he’s ever laid eyes upon is right there, standing tall at the entrance of the room.

His lean figure is elegantly hugged by a lustrous blue, silken robe, decorated with a fine white embroidery and silver trimmings, and his neck and chest adorned by a cascade of pearl necklaces, of different lengths and colors, from white, to silver, to grey, to black ones, and still the miraculous glow of his marble skin outshines all of them.

But what enchants Namjoon and leaves him staring is the man’s face: a perfect oval, with a slightly rounded chin and a godlike bone structure, embraces his features like a frame does with its masterpiece, emphasizing the quiet yet sensual perfection of a pair of almond shaped violet eyes, crowned by long, thick, black lashes, a statuesque nose and lips, so rosy, full and defined to be on the verge of unreality, that demand to be kissed and worshipped. 

Namjoon lets out a loud breath from his wet mouth at the very thought of the possibility to touch such an incredibly alluring man, completely lost in contemplation and awe. 

“Yes, please, Pearl. Thank you very much for your unparalleled efficiency.” Solar answers, gently caressing his face and making him smile politely at her touch.

Namjoon would like to be wrong about his reaction, but he feels a flush of jealousy ignite his guts when he catches that gesture.

“Why don’t you join us?” he decides to ask, struggling to keep his chill.

“With all due respect, sir, I would rather not. -The chanting voice crashes on Namjoon’s chest like warm sea waves at midnight- I tend to favor locations that have not been furnished with corpses.” 

The handsome man smiles at him, this time wider, and the gang leader is so mystically focused on such a beauty that he pays no mind to the fact that he has just received a refusal, a sensation he’s not familiar at all with.

O _h, fuck, of course! The damn corpses!_ He thinks. 

Naturally, he’s grown used to the sight of blood and is almost insensitive to the act of killing when he’s attacked or threatened, but for the first time in a long while Namjoon feels inhuman. 

In the meantime, the doctor has stepped into the room and has opened his leather bag, placing a linen towel on the table, where he puts a sealed hypodermic syringe, some vials of anesthetic, a kit for sutures, some bandages and gauzes, and a bottle of antiseptic solution. 

Namjoon feels the noise of rubber gloves being worn and gulps, nervous. He hates all the patchwork that comes after an injury.

“This might burn.” The doctor says, before rubbing his neck with a cotton pad imbued with antiseptic.

The man hisses as soon as the liquid touches his skin. _It might burn?_ Could’ve been better said: _this’ll burn like a bitch_.

Then, there is a pause. 

Doctor Oh fills in the hypodermic syringe with the anesthetic and proceeds to inject it around the wound, then starts touching its limbs.

“No worries, the edges are fairly clean and regular. There’s gonna turn out a pretty needlework.” 

So Doctor Oh is a man of humor, uh? Namjoon can appreciate that, he laughs along with him.

Finally, when the part has become insensitive, the doctor starts suturing the skin. 

It takes him some time to patch and bandage him up. 

When the job is done, he is given a prescription with the names of the medicines he will have to take in the following days and the instructions for the correct posology.

Namjoon folds the piece of paper and puts it in his pocket.

“Thank you, Doc -He says, shaking his hand and letting a fat roll of cash slip from his own to the doctor’s one- It’s been a pleasure.”

As soon as the man walks out of the room, Namjoon pours himself another glass of champagne.

“Joon -Yoongi murmurs next to him- You really shouldn’t.”

The damn voice of conscience, Namjoon knows how his friend is obviously right, yet he decides to ignore his. There’s this sense of discomfort and tension he needs to shake off of his back.

“Yoongi, do you remember what I told you at my place? We’re gonna celebrate tonight. All of us, including you.” His expression is suddenly severe and intimidating.

“You can’t force me, you know that, right?”

“I’d be damned if I don’t”

“Then I guess I’ll let you be idiot, just for tonight, and watch over you.”

They look at each other in a knowing way and chuckle at once, then Namjoon wraps his arm around Yoongi’s shoulder and holds his glass up high, once again.

“Here’s to my guardian angel, Min Yoongi!” he cheers loud enough for anyone else to hear and raise their glasses again, in agreement.

“To Min Yoongi!”

 

* * *

 

When Namjoon opens up his eyes, countless drinks later, he finds himself asleep on a chair, resting his aching head on the table.

The wound hurts like hell and his mind is clouded.

He hates that feeling and needs to take a breath of fresh air, so he pulls himself up, not without a certain amount of struggle, and starts to stagger looking for the exit to the room, but gets lost in a dark corridor. 

There is a faint silver glow in the distance, Namjoon decides to follow it, even though he has no idea of where he’s going. 

Such a situation would usually throw him in the deepest panic attack, for he hatesanything that involves improvisation and unknown environmental circumstances, but the medicines and the alcohol must have made him loosen up enough to boost his very poor adventurous spirit.

He follows the light until he reaches an internal cloister, unfolded by a wooden colonnade. 

The moonlight shines gently over the pillars, giving a completely different charm to the surrounding building, cleansing it from the sins committed inside of it.

Or at least, that’s what Namjoon likes to believe. 

“ _With all due respect, sir, I would rather not._ ”

That voice still rings inside his head, piercing even harder than the aching wound.

He hasn’t been refused because of the corpses, Namjoon realizes, he has been refused because of who he is, because of what he does. 

Maybe he needs cleansing, as well, but right when he’s about to go and bathe in the moonlight to be reborn under her loving look, he feels a movement.

Namjoon hides in the shadows of the colonnade, fortunately unseen. 

He squints his eyes, senses sharper than ever, watchfully waiting in the darkness.

His first instinct is to check for his gun, but he must have forgotten it inside. 

He’s fucked.

If the other person is anyone from the Dragons’ gang, he’s going to be dead within the next five minutes if he’s not careful.

He swallows and takes a deep breath, but the odds are catastrophically against him.

Then he sees him: the handsome man, the one Solar called Pearl, is peacefully walking, kissed by the dreamy silver light. 

His steps are silent, the only audible noise is the soothing one of his necklaces brushing one against the other and swinging over the skin of his chest.

Namjoon is suddenly breathless at the magnificent beauty of the sight profiled in front of his incredulous eyes.

“You won’t need your weapons with me, you know?” Pearl says out loud and bursts in laughter.

_How the hell…?_

“It’s the eyes. -he adds, still trying to keep himself from laughing- You’ve got shiny eyes. That’s how I knew.”

Pearl walks towards a dumbfounded, speechless Namjoon with a slow, feline strut, until he’s close enough to feel his perfume.

He smells like jasmine, bergamot and rosemary. 

He smells like sex. 

He smells like the full moon.

Namjoon eagerly inhales the fragrance he is radiating and the temptation to draw that man closer is almost irresistible.

He is longing to touch Pearl, so much he has to clench his fist to prevent himself from doing it.

“I’m sorry for the scenario we forced you to see.” Namjoon mutters.

Such a precious, delicate thing shouldn’t have been tainted by that disgusting scenario, he ponders with regret and shame. 

Yes, him, Kim Namjoon, feels ashamed of himself like he hasn’t felt in a very long time, and it’s all because of this angelic beauty who is gazing at him with the most innocent, adorable and dreamy eyes.

“You look very troubled.” 

Pearl whispers through his soft lips and the sound is as captivating as a mermaid’s calling to claim Namjoon’s soul as his own.

“Don’t be…”

The chanting voice continues luring Namjoon closer and closer, now completely mesmerized, and Pearl completely takes over him when he cups the gang leader’s face in his silk smooth hands.

“Please… Let me take care of it.”

It can’t be happening.

It can’t be true.

Namjoon feels electricity run through his body and is almost unconscious when he instinctively puts his right arm around the waist of the other man, allowing his fingers to gently dive within the creases of the silk, marvel at the touch of the celestial smoothness of the fabric and startle at the perception of Pearl’s body under his fingertips.

Their lips gravitate towards each other in an inevitable, yet shy, approach, just as if they were reciprocally asking if they’re allowed to meet halfway and melt into each other in a kiss.

Pearl flutters his lashes unwittingly at the touch of Namjoon’s left hand, warm and manly, brushing against his cheek, and brings him closer by his chin, until their lips touch in a quiet seal, pressing further in a galaxy of light, sweet kisses.

But, like any newborn galaxy, their kisses get increasingly warmer, wetter, more and more intense by the second, until their lips slip one over the other and slowly disclose one for the other, like two roses blossoming together, allowing their tongues to shyly meet and get acquainted to the reciprocal caresses, before ending up wrapped together in a perfect dance in the ballroom of their wishful mouths.

They share this perfect moment for a countless amount of time, no one of them really wanting to part.

_If only I could_ , Namjoon wishes, _I would stay like this forever and just forget the world_.


	4. Era of the Snake: 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Namjoon is completely captivated by the magical atmosphere, not really thinking, rather feeling and following the pleasant sensation of letting loose of all of his restraints to only be his true self.   
> Not a killer, not a gang leader, not the Monster, just human.  
> They eventually slightly part from one another and they just dive deep in each other’s eyes, breathing heavily.   
> “I know we’re kind of doing this backwards and I might sound awkward, but…What’s your name?” Namjoon asks.  
> “I thought you were smart.”   
> “I mean it, Pearl. What’s your real name?”   
> “That’s my name to you.” 
> 
> -
> 
> Jin saw himself screaming his lungs out in a ghastly cry of despair and anger and bitter regret, his face was twisted in a horrendous and unrecognizable mask of pain, but he was aware that this was just happening in his mind.  
> On the outside he was completely still, silent, weeping without a sound.  
> On the inside, he wished he could flip the desk in front of the man sitting across him and smash his face with fists and kicks, turn him into a maimed, sanguineous puddle of unrecognizable flesh just to make him stop talking, stop asking questions, stop speaking his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dearest darlings!
> 
> Here I am, dropping the most demanding chapter I have wrote 'til now, it has been emotionally and mentally committing and since there are some quite sensitive themes, I gave my best trying to face the themes in it in the most correct, true, realistic way I could, and I hope you will be understanding and willing to teach me any better if I didn't succeed in my purpose. I feel very insecure about my writing this time, since I have tried to step out of my comfort zone, so I'll definitely be glad to accept any kind of feedback you'd like to offer me.  
> As usual, if you have enjoyed it, please let me know by leaving kudos or a comment: they are immensely appreciated, they keep me going and deeply motivate me.
> 
> Have a nice read you guys!
> 
> Now, for the warnings: the first sensitive part begins at "Mr. Kim, the point is that your ex-boyfriend" and ends at "That was the day Pearl was born", while there is a smut section beginning at "That perfume, he remembers it so well" and ending at "The jerk doesn’t even spend a few seconds next to him".

# Era of the Snake: 4

 

The cloister is peacefully enlightened by the gentle silver light of the night and a moonbeam wraps itself around the two men.

The wet sound of their lips and their breaths are the only audible noises while their hands slide over and over each other’s body, mentally figuring shapes, images, sensations.

There’s giggling, soft moaning, exhaling, and more kissing.

They continue surging forward at each other, alternating gentle, sweet pecks to adoring, deep kisses, all coming so naturally and spontaneously that anyone could have sworn they were longtime lovers.

In a sudden rush of passion, Namjoon holds Pearl fast by his waist, gliding with his hands so hard on the fabric that he can feel it wrinkle under his fingers’ pressure and pushing him against one of the wooden columns.

Pearl chuckles in the most lovable way ever, probably both surprised and endeared at the same time, looking for Namjoon’s eyes with his intense, sensual gaze.

“Shiny eyes”, he murmurs with a giggle in his melodic voice, while lifting the man’s chin with his hand to make sure he sees him clearly while the soft words are delivered to his ears.

Namjoon looks down instantly, embarrassed, and smiles, revealing two dimples on his cheeks that give him a very different look that the one he’s used to show: innocent, pure, lovable, far from the inexpressive and cold-blooded man Pearl has seen earlier.

As for Pearl, he’s radiating a natural charm and emanates a soothing sense of calmness and serenity that makes Namjoon want to contemplate him for hours, quietly, just basking at his perfection.

“You really are a sight to see, y’know?” Namjoon says, in a deeply seducing tone.

Namjoon almost scratches Pearl’s back with his nails running up and down the perfect curve of his spine and bites his own lips in anticipation. He is craving to have him all for himself, he needs to feel his bare skin under his caring touch, to kiss every inch of such a masterpiece in the most profound adoration, to taste it with the same sense of wonder with which any mortal would have tasted a cup of ambrosia, to knead his smooth flesh and feel his astonished heart sulk in the chest in mystical awe and carnal desire; the muscles of his neck tense and twitch at the very thought of all such things. He hisses and swallows his saliva, while sucking in his cheeks. The handsome man has him really riled up and eager, and he makes sure to let him know by thrusting his hips forward and against the other one, who is pushed even further against the column.

The necklaces around Pearl’s neck produce a faint clinking sound and his lips slightly tense in a smile under the pressure of the gang leader’s body, taller yet leaner, his movements eager though elegant, Pearl really just follows him, allowing Namjoon to push him without opposing any resistance and surrendering to his desires in the sweetest manner he manages to pull off.

Their chests are touching and Namjoon could swear he can feel their hearts beating together, or in this moment he wishes for it to be true. He would like to say that this is all about the mere need to get himself a nice fuck, but the more he looks at Pearl and the less he’s convinced of his intentions. Their interactions are all so familiar, so unprompted, and this warmth he feels within is not just related to the desire to get Pearl in bed, rather to wake up next to him.

Pearl’s lips are so soft and delicate and plump, he can’t resist the urge to lick the lower one and gently bite it, making the other man hum at the grip of his teeth, as his hands touch Namjoon’s cheeks in a loving way he hasn’t felt in such a long time he even forgot the sensation of, caressing his soul through the skin with a healing touch.

Namjoon is completely captivated by the magical atmosphere, not really thinking, rather feeling and following the pleasant sensation of letting loose of all of his restraints to only be his true self.

Not a killer, not a gang leader, not the _Monster_ , just human.

They eventually slightly part from one another and they just dive deep in each other’s eyes, breathing heavily.

“I know we’re kind of doing this backwards and I might sound awkward, but…What’s your name?” Namjoon asks.

“I thought you were smart.” Pearl argues, lifting one of his eyebrows and giving him a puzzled expression.

“I mean it, Pearl. What’s your real name?” Namjoon stares back, determined not to take this attitude as answer.

“That’s my name to you.” He gets out of Namjoon’s hold and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

It’s the first time Pearl has ever sounded so serious and determined.

“Ok, let’s start over -Namjoon takes a step back and lifts up his palm as a sign of peace- My name is Kim Namjoon and…”

“See, that’s exactly the kind of information I didn’t need nor want to know.” Pearl abruptly interrupts him.

His usually melodious voice now sounds sharp and harsh.

Namjoon is somewhere in between the shook and taken aback, he can’t fully understand what he has done to provoke such a reaction and, most importantly, he doesn’t know how to turn back time.

Just a few seconds ago they were kissing in the sweetest way possible, and now this- _What the hell happened?_ he wonders.

“I beg your pardon -Namjoon says in a composed yet growling tone- What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing? You flirted with me, you kissed me, you even let me grind on you, but as soon as I try to get to know your name you snap like this? I don’t get it Pearl, and you can bet your ass you’re not leaving until I get an explanation. I was just trying to be nice to you.”

Pearl rolls his eyes and turns away from the man, clearly unwilling to face the discussion, but Namjoon reaches for his wrist and grabs it in a vicious hold, pulling him back, without noticing the actual strength he put in his grip and making Pearl sigh in pain.

When he turns around, his handsome face is contorted with pure anger, purple eyes darting hatred through shining tears of wrath.

“So this is your way of being nice, uh?”

“No, no, no, listen- I really meant no harm…”

Hot tears stream down Pearl’s face, his lips are faintly trembling as they let out broken sighs.

Namjoon is looking at his own hand, appalled at his involuntary reaction, almost as if it wasn’t his own.

His face gives away all of his mortification and shame.

“You could never understand in how many ways you could harm me, and after all why would you? You’re the Monster, how could you understand a whore?”

“Excuse me, a _what_?”

Namjoon is sincerely surprised, and at the same time he’s never felt more humiliated: it was all too good to be true, he should’ve known better than to fall in Pearl’s arms so easily, he should’ve thought that something, in what felt so natural, definitely wasn’t.

What kind of man would have gotten close to him and showed him affection so freely, after seeing what he’s capable of?

Why would he even think of standing a chance to be the object of desire of anyone who didn’t have an agenda?

He feels hurt. He feels mocked. He feels wounded, even harder than he already physically is.

“Pearl, I… -he tries to speak, overwhelmed by his own thoughts and emotions, and there are so many things he’d like to say, but the words just don’t come to mind- …I never meant to treat you like a whore.”

“Ha! Really? Then your moral compass must be so fucked up that you must believe in all honesty that threatening people and being physically aggressive is just one way like another of interacting. You’re so pure. You’re so human. Murder is just a collateral activity on your daily schedule, after all.”

Pearl is now crying and screaming at Namjoon, any sign of his previous gentleness gone for good as he turns around in a flash and hits with a loud slap the man’s face, the same one he had been caressing a few minutes earlier, extricating himself from the painful hold around his arm.

“For your information, I didn’t kiss you as Pearl. I kissed you as Jin, but I guess you just can’t refrain from fucking things up, can you? You had to ask questions, to be demanding, that’s what you do. You demand and people obey. That’s why you could never truly want me for me. That’s why you don’t deserve me, but Pearl. And next time, Kim Namjoon, make sure you pay beforehand.”

He doesn’t even wait for Namjoon’s reaction to his words, but turns around and leaves, in the darkness, with long and quick steps that exhale fury.

Namjoon is left alone and with a horrible sensation of utter pain and emptiness in his chest, he heaves a deep sigh and finds himself punching a wall before collapsing on it, his face buried in the forearm.

“Jin?” he whispers to himself in disbelief, furrowing his brows and slowly putting the pieces together.

Pearl told him his name. He eventually did.

But, as for the reason why, that’s what has Namjoon wrecked inside: Jin told him his name because he behaved the way Pearl was supposed to

He can’t even realize what exactly is happening to his body, all he knows is his eyes are drowned in burning tears that soak his jacket’s fabric and caustically itch his skin, his shoulders are flinching in an endless and unfortunate attempt to breathe and sob at the same time and his legs are getting weaker by the second.

Namjoon would like to tell himself pretty lies, such as that it didn’t mean anything, that a whore is a whore and his words don’t have any importance, that he can buy himself any other man he wants, and for much that it may all be true, it just doesn’t fit the situation, because Pearl- oh no, wait, Jin has made him feel something real.

He can swear that everything he has felt before their argument wasn’t a lie, he didn’t make it up in his mind: the effortlessness with which they gravitated one towards the other , their wildly beating hearts, their adoring looks, their kisses… Namjoon can’t even bring himself to think back at how Jin’s lips felt against his own, for the sensation doesn’t compare to the one of any of the other lips he’s kissed before.

Everything about Jin is soft, delicate, sensitive and even in front of such a precious person, Namjoon couldn’t help but ruin everything with his reversed Midas’ curse: like everything he touches, he instantly spoiled him.

He had a taste of paradise, before he was reminded he belongs in hell.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kim Seokjin.

That one used to be his name, a whole lifetime ago, but no one ever called him like that anymore.

He even forgets about it most of the time.

He’s Pearl to anyone there, exception made for Taemin, Taehyung and Jimin, for whom he is still Hyung, or Jin. Not even Solar, Hwasa, Wheein or Moonbyul call him by his name anymore, they sadistically insist with that disgusting nickname they gave him when he was 16.

Initially, it started as a cute pet name between Jin and the girls.

_It’s because your skin is so pale and luminous_ , Solar used to say.

It was more than ten years ago, right when all of Jin’s life shattered into pieces.

 

He remembers Solar as a teenager, he remembers all of them. They were young, desperate and for one reason or the other they had ended up on the street.

As for himself, he came from a wealthy family: his father used to be a CEO, his mother had won Miss Korea in her youth. He had a happy childhood, with lots of toys and many friends, he spent his days studying hard and taking singing and acting classes. He took the looks after his mother, he wanted to be an actor and as long as he delivered good results with his academic life, his parents would allow him to do whatever he pleased in his spare time.

Jin doesn’t recall when it all came crushing down, he can’t pinpoint the exact time when he figured he was _different_ , at a certain point of his young years _he just knew_. All of his classmates were starting to talk about girls: boobs and asses were the subject of the day any given morning at school, and even though everything seemed to be biologically well-functioning about him, he just didn’t feel the same interest. To be honest, he was even a slight bit disgusted at the very idea of kissing a woman, let alone having a sexual intercourse with one.  It wasn’t because of embarrassment, as a matter of fact he was anything but shy, he loved joking around and was pretty much the class clown.

Solar was his very first friend, she was one year older and they met because they were taking the same extracurricular activities. Something between them just clicked, so much that they would be considered by other students as a couple: they would go out together every weekend, spend time at each other’s place, they even attended prom together for three years in a row and got elected prom king and queen every single time, and nonetheless they would both laugh at the thought of all those people believing they were in a relationship.

“That’s so gross, Jin, ew! Can you believe it?”

“Ah, piss off Solar! I’d prefer to cut my dick off, and you know me- I could totally do that.”

“I would rather rip my ovaries off. Bare handed, Kim Pearl Jin, BARE HANDED.”

“Jeez, do you even hear yourself? That’s sick!”

“Yeah, and the idea of you cutting your dick off is clearly a lord-like thing to say, isn’t it?”

“I mean, you’ve got a point, but I’m a man, that makes a whole difference, I’m allowed to say those things.”

“Because you’ve got a cock? That makes a man out of you?”

“Of course it does!”

“You may want to think it back. Moonbyul is twice more of a man than you are.”

“Who? Smarty-pants? Are you fucking with me?”

“You wish!”

“On a second thought, no, no I do not.”

Solar and Jin would always joke and play with each other like this, lightly hitting each other’s arms or legs, laughing out so loud and so long that their stomach would hurt, and even though he was quite annoyed at the constant teasing about his gender identity, he eventually started questioning his sexual orientation. He always had Solar around, and he could never had called her an ugly girl, she was quite the opposite: she was breathtakingly beautiful even in her younger years, they casually touched each other all the time, a privilege many boys at school envied him, but nonetheless he didn’t feel a thing about her.

On the contrary, when he was sixteen, his attention got caught by someone he most definitely shouldn’t have been drawn to, since he was the son of one of his father’s business partners. He was incredibly handsome and he always had this weird expression with a big smile on his lips yet the saddest eyes. Jin had always been an empathetic person and those big, glistening eyes got him hooked: the moment he saw him, he knew there was no turning back.  He got caught in that irresistible charm, little did he know that it would have also been his curse.

Love hit him like an avalanche and he just succumbed to the feeling, without thinking of the consequences, gladly giving all of his heart and body to his beloved. It felt like adoration, like mysticism, like being born anew every time their hands would brush or their lips would meet in kisses that tasted addictingly sweet. Whenever Jin kissed him, he knew his eyes would stop being sad, at least for that little time, so he did it as much as he possibly could: those were the moments when he would feel the most validated in that relationship, his happiness relying completely on his boyfriend’s one.

Jin barely remembers how it feels to truly want someone, the pleasure he got from intimacy with a man is a distant memory nowadays, but he knows for sure he was so deeply in love with his boyfriend in high school that he would do whatever he asked effortlessly and gladly, just to be rewarded with that blissful expression on his face which he fell so sincerely in love with.

In no time his whole world revolved around the charming young man, around his happiness, his joy, his satisfaction, his _pleasure_.

He, Solar and the girls would still be friends, they had only slightly drifted away, until one horrid day, the memory of which is still engraved in the back of Jin’s mind, when his parents walked in on them making out on the couch. It was nothing obscene, just two boys being in love with each other, and yet his mother screamed as if she had just seen a crime scene, while his father turned into a salt statue. It’s all so vivid he can still feel  his cheeks burning, hear the footsteps of his mother running away in tears, see his father staying still in front of him, with his fists clenched, for seconds that felt more like hours, and as Jin held his boyfriend’s hand so tight that the blood had stopped flushing in his fingers, he heard him say in a cold-blooded, killer-like voice: “Leave. Now.”

He hasn’t seen his parents ever since.

He only had enough time to pick up his school books, his laptop and a few clothes, shove them in his backpack and get out of his house, while tears streamed down his cheeks, all the way down to his chin, and then drizzled on his shirt in uneven halos. As soon as he walked out of his room, his boyfriend had left, there was no trace of him whatsoever, and for as much as Jin tried to call him for hours, sent him probably 200 texts and left him an undetermined number of messages on the voice mail, he never got a call back. He was left alone, lost, abandoned, his heart shattered in pieces and his perfect life suddenly torn and burnt to ashes. He realized that all the people he had loved would’ve preferred if he were to disappear, or even better, to never exist at all, and yet there he was, alive, existing, crawled on a sidewalk after running God knew for how far and how long, out of breath and with no resources whatsoever.

He took out his phone, one last time, with a single thought hammering in his mind: “ _if this doesn’t work, I’ll put an end to it all in the Han Riven_ ”.

But, as if for magic, it worked. He felt a familiar voice answer and, all of a sudden, Jin smiled through the tears.

“Solar?”

“Jin? _Baby Pearl_? What’s going on, why are you crying?”

 

-

 

Jin still cries as he replays the movie of that infamous day in his head. He cries about that, laying on the silk sheets of his king-size bed in the brothel while grabbing the pearls encrusted duvet, and about everything that happened afterwards. Afterwards, he went to live with Moonbyul -yes, Smarty-Pants Moonbyul had a small flat all for herself- but they would spend their days together with Solar and the two new girls they met at school, Hwasa and Wheein, who, they found out, were childhood best friends. He was still heartbroken and devastated and had a really hard time picking up the pieces of his life and trying to keep it together, but it still was better than nothing. Nonetheless, Jin would call his allegedly ex every day and leave voice messages wishing him good morning and good night twice a day. The girls begged him to quit this unhealthy habit, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop until he had a proper closure, until he had the chance to properly face the whole situation, man to man, and hear his refusal. If, in a way, it looked like he was just begging to have his heart shattered even more, in another it was a primal necessity to understand what exactly went off on the other boy’s side the day that Jin was kicked out of his house, why did he give up on him just like that, what made him decide to move past him right away.

Jin needed a fair closure, more and more desperately with each passing day, to at least try to get back on his feet from the condition he was in: defeated, heartbroken and yet so foolishly in love with someone who had been ignoring him for months now. He waited for some more months and never gave in, until one day he got a phone call, but sadly, when he went to pick up, the voice he heard didn’t match with the so familiar one he wished to listen to.

It was a detective from the police station. They wanted to see him.

Jin felt a horrid shiver down his spine, a sudden bad omen froze his body as he hung up and he found himself trembling with a completely irrational sense of fear. He walked up to the girls in the other room and told them what happened, all the four of them offered themselves to walk him to the Police station and they all tried their best, while on their way, to cheer him up and convince him that it didn’t have to be something bad, but Jin had this feeling that twisted his guts ever since he hung up the phone, like a warning, to which he didn’t know how to react. When he got in front of the building, Solar held his hand tight and smiled gently in an attempt to encourage him to walk in, she must have said something, but he still can’t recall what it was, too busy listening to a raging voice in his head that kept screaming at him to run away.

Everything that came afterwards is a mystery to Jin to this day, it’s all blurred and out of focus.

The next thing he knew, he was in the detective’s office and he heard him say a lot of nonsense and circumlocutions, his head hurt as he kept squinting his eyes and shaking his legs under the desk.

“Mr. Kim, are you listening?” the detective’s words brought him back from the mess ongoing in his head.

“I- Sorry, I happen to be terribly confused. You’ve asked me where I was last Friday, you’ve asked me about my family, about my school, about my ex-boyfriend, but right now it’s kind of hard for me to understand the whole point of my summoning.”

Jin tried to help the words come out of his words by making wide hand gestures, but he still felt like the whole situation wasn’t making any sense.

“Mr. Kim, the point is that your ex-boyfriend...”

All of a sudden, the world started spinning so fast that he felt like he was on a rollercoaster from which there was no way out. He got dizzy and unbearably nauseous, the detective luckily made it on time to hand him the trash bin right before he threw up.

Jin kept staring blankly at an undefined spot in the room, holding the trash bin in his shaking hands, his face white as a sheet, completely disembodied.

He felt himself crying, he felt the tears burn his eyes, he felt his runny nose, he felt his mouth gasping for air, he felt his chest frantically rise and fall under the titanic effort to breathe, yet his mind was elsewhere, it kept traveling through all of their memories together.

His angelic, handsome, charming face, with those features carved by the Gods in their most effective attempt to achieve perfection.

His glowing skin, slightly tanned, that felt so smooth under Jin’s touch and which would radiate pure light.

His big, brown, sad eyes, with their pretty almond shape and long, curved lashes that would flutter right above the cheeks any time he would get shy when Jin complimented him.

His smile, so wide and bright, the one that made everyone feel instantly at ease.

Their eager kisses, filled with desire, the warmth of his mouth, their brushing tongues.

The way they would hide and just clash one against the others in an outburst of passion.

How they would entangle their fingers together and just loosely play with each other’s hand, or how one would grab the waist of the other, the feeling of the skin of his hip under Jin’s fingertips is a memory so hurtful it makes him want to collapse.

Their first time.

Their bodies, the heat, the anticipation, the embarrassment, the fear, the anxiety, the pain, the pleasure.

The whispers.

How he would brush his lips against Jin’s earlobe and softly say how he loved him, how perfect he was, how his beauty made him want to cry, how scared he was to hurt him, how afraid he was, how he loved him.

How he loved him.

How he loved him.

HOW HE LOVED HIM.

And Jin loved him back, so much it was unbearable, even when he had been long gone from his life, he would still love him with all his person.

He hoped he could’ve met him again someday, when both of them would have grown up, as adults, to maybe have a chance to- and now, everything had gone to ashes. It wasn’t a nightmare, it was way worse, he couldn’t wake up, he couldn’t tell himself that it was just his twisted imagination playing tricks on his psyche, he couldn’t find comfort in the idea of the Sun rising and proving him how it was all unreal.

What would have the Sun risen for now, anyway?

Who gave a fuck about the Sun when it wouldn’t have lit the eyes of his loved one anymore?

All hope was gone.

The world could’ve very well gone to rot for as much as Jin was concerned, and possibly take him with it.

What kind of a world was that which allowed an angel to die?

Because, Jin was sure about it, he couldn’t just have done it like that, like he suddenly didn’t care about living anymore: he wanted to live, he tried his fucking best to live, to find his place in the world, in society, and he must’ve been desperately seeking for help, he must’ve been struggling so much, so hard, he must’ve felt like he had no importance whatsoever, like nobody cared… So the question was what kind of a disgusting, tremendous, nauseating, fucked-up world could have possibly made such a faultless, innocent, precious person feel irrelevant? He just wanted to destroy everything around him, to throw the table at that idiotic detective, who acted all professional and sensitive, but who didn’t really give a flying fuck about him and yet filled his mouth with his name…

A name so pure no one was worthy pronouncing anymore.

No one deserved to speak his name.

No one deserved to talk about his feelings.

No one was pure enough.

No one was good enough to make any hypothesis, to try to understand what he must have gone through, all alone, with no one to support him, no one could’ve ever understood how impossibly demanding life must have been for him, if he eventually decided to…

Jin saw himself screaming his lungs out in a ghastly cry of despair and anger and bitter regret, his face was twisted in a horrendous and unrecognizable mask of pain, but he was aware that this was just happening in his mind.

On the outside he was completely still, silent, weeping without a sound.

On the inside, he wished he could flip the desk in front of the man sitting across him and smash his face with fists and kicks, feel the bones crack under his hits, hear the sound of cartilages being smashed, sense the heat of blood splatters on his face and hands, turn him into a maimed, sanguineous puddle of unrecognizable flesh just to make him stop talking, stop asking questions, stop speaking _his name_ …

“…Do you understand, Mr. Kim?” That fucking voice.

_He speaks once more_ , Jin said to himself, _and I’ll gauge him_.

“I -Jin couldn’t even breathe, it was too much effort- I have a question.”

The detective nodded, _disgustingly patronizing asshole_ , Jin thought.

“Why do you care?” Jin’s voice was angry and spiteful.

“Excuse me, what?”

“WHY DO YOU CARE? Do you understand me? Do you fucking speak my language? -He didn’t even give him the time to answer, he stood up throwing the chair on the floor with a sudden thump and hold himself up pushing his palms on the desk- He wanted to live! He wanted to be saved! And if we’re here today, it means no one was there to hear his cry, so tell me, and try to make it a convincing story, why do you only care now? WHY DO YOU ONLY CARE NOW THAT YOU CAN’T DO ANYTHING?”

He couldn’t hear anything around him anymore, nor the detective’s sharp voice, nor his own, he couldn’t see the room around him, only darkness, not sure if it was because he couldn’t open his eyes or because his sight was failing him, all he knew was he had fallen in a devouring dimension ruled by an eternal, starless night where the shadows of what once used to be happiest memories were coming to rip him apart, grasping on his flesh with their icy claws and tearing his body and soul apart. He just gave in to the despair and let himself go as his mind definitively turned blank, not sure about where he was anymore, or who he was, for that mattered in any way.

That was the day Jin died, in the most horrible, violent, tormenting way possible.

What came after was very much similar to an out-of-body experience.

He got questioned for hours, in different days for the following six months, so many times that words just became meaningless and Jin started feeling like he was reciting a script. The whole situation was becoming absurd: the detective had taken his phone, his laptop and his diary as evidences and didn’t seem prone to give them back anytime soon, they said that those were evidences and that he couldn’t have them back before homicide had been completely excluded from the possible causes of the death, since his ex-boyfriend hadn’t left a note, which thing, he found out, was quite unusual for a suicidal person, even though, as he tried to explain, it would have been absolutely typical of him. His ex-boyfriend was a silent person, quiet, nostalgic, veiled with the melancholy of the lost ones and yet so desperate to find reasons to be happy, eager to find his path, anxious to make a life on his own, but no matter how many times Jin tried to explain to the policemen his true nature, they would dismiss his explanations and go back to torturing him with more and more idiotic questions which didn’t even make any sense for anyone who really knew who he was.

Jin was nearly isolated from the world, he didn’t even get the time to mourn properly, let alone handle the events in whichever way: everyone was way too focused in finding a guilty and trying to point their fingers at him, to make out of him a monster, a stalker, a pervert, a rapist, a _killer_ , everyone wanted to blame him with an inhuman ferocity.

“Of course it must have been something that _faggot_ did to that sweet boy…”

“Disgusting sicko!”

“He’s broke by nature, I mean… He’s a _homosexual_ … He must have forced the poor boy to do such horrible things, until he couldn’t take it any longer.”

“ _Filthy twink_ must’ve _raped_ him, no way such a handsome young man would’ve _fucked that cumdump_ otherwise.”

He tried to endure through the insults, he tried to clench his jaw and swallow all those revolting words he heard about himself, trying not to let anger get the best of him, so that they wouldn’t have the satisfaction to get the reaction they expected, but it was thoroughly consuming and he was already drained and lifeless. As if what he was going through wasn’t enough, he was forced to go through everything about their relationship, every damn detail was under the spotlight, he had to answer questions about their communications, about his messages, about the nature of their relationship and how it had ended, about their arguments, about their private life -their sex life, that’s how the inquirers would call it.

Sex.

Such an aseptic, cold, unnatural word to define what happened to them when their bodies would tie one another, in the ineffable bond they called making love, and their souls would dance together as close as humanly possible.

Jin hated the word sex.

He hated it guts.

It was crude and gross, he associated it to everything he despised: carelessness, absence, isolation, hedonism, mindlessness.

Jin was a caring person… At least he used to be.

Having to grow used to define what him and his ex-boyfriend had as sex was disrespectful, to say the least, and it made their relationship feel devalued, belittled, cheapened.

It wasn’t sex.

It was love.

It was life.

It was his life, their life those people were talking about, and now that there wasn’t him anymore, Jin had ceased to be alive as well.

Solar and the girls tried to stick close to him, but he just couldn’t make it.

Jin started hating the pity he saw in their eyes.

He despised the for being always so kind to him, so careful, so attentive, so sweet, their behavior made him furious, it was all so unnatural, like they were constantly walking on eggs, trying so hard not to hurt him or upset him, and he felt anger boil in his veins every single time they would talk to him in those stupid sweet voices, asking him if he was ok, if he wanted to eat, if he wanted to get up…

All the happiness was gone, even from their friendship, and Jin hated that.

Jin hated how no one of them would joke with him anymore.

Jin hated how no one of them would open up to him anymore.

Jin hated how no one of them would touch him anymore.

Jin hated being treated like a fucking broken thing.

He snapped at them for anything, he broke dishes and glasses out of anger, he said horrible things all the time, and they would always excuse him and be understanding and welcoming when he would excuse himself, in those rare moments of lucidity, when he would understand what a shitty person he was becoming and how badly he was behaving, but it was of no use.

Jin couldn’t pull himself together, he didn’t even know what was there left to pull together, if there ever was something.

There only was this monster made of hate, fear and despair left, living within him and controlling his words and actions, and it was incredibly strong and unbeatably dominant that Jin at a certain point stopped being himself and turned into it.

Eventually, one night, he had a crisis, one of the bad ones, one of those when Jin would be so desperate to scratch the skin off of his arms and chest with his nails only, dissatisfied until he would finally see blood drip all over his body, and cry in the grip of a ferocious pain, both mental and physical.

That’s when he left.

He dressed up without even bothering to dry is face or clean the blood and hit the road without a destination or a plan, there was nowhere to go and nothing to do for a walking dead like he was, he would hate himself for not being dead already to be fair, he hated himself for not being brave enough to put an end to it all, he hated his body for being that resilient and his mind for being so weak.

Soon enough he ended up living on the streets, getting into fights for any stupid thing with the fury of those who have nothing left to lose and living off of small thefts, but when the winter came everything changed: he would be constantly starving, freezing, sick. Jin had never been that desperate. All he had left was a pretty face, even if it had gotten boney, skinny, pale and dirty: the conclusion almost offered itself to him when, one night, he was pulled over by a big, shiny car in an alley where he was looking for a spot to sleep in. A man lowered the car’s window.

“How much, baby doll?”

Jin still get nauseous, ten and more years later, when he thinks back to the sound of his voice: creepy, arrogant, lecherous. He gulps, even now that he’s safe in his pretty room, on his bed.

“How much what?” he asked back, he hadn’t figured what was going on there, too hungry and tired to be present in the moment.

“For a nice fuck, baby doll.”

A nice fuck.

Jin hadn’t eaten in days and yet he wanted to puke over him.

_“Of course it must have been something that faggot did to that sweet boy…”_

_“Disgusting sicko!”_

_“He’s broke by nature, I mean… He’s a homosexual… He must have forced the poor boy to do such horrible things, until he couldn’t take it any longer.”_

_“Filthy twink must’ve raped him, no way such a handsome young man would’ve fucked that cumdump otherwise.”_

All those voices stormed back into his mind like thunders, almost making him collapse on his knees and cry all his tears at the single thought of how low he had gotten, how he had hit the very rock bottom of human dignity, how dirty, miserable, hopeless of a person he was.

“Hundred bucks.”

“Well, that ass better be a nice and tight one. Get in. We’re going to have to make you pretty before.”

“Sure.” Jin shrugged and got into the car, deprecating his weakness, feeling filthier than ever.

“What’s your name, baby doll?” the man asked, licking his lips and tugging Jin’s hand on his crotch.

“P-Pearl. My name is Pearl.” he answered with a broken voice, turning his face to hide his wet eyes.

That was the day Jin died for the second time, in the most degrading, ungodly, haunting way possible.

That was the day Pearl was born.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Daylight.

For most people, it’s a comforting presence, a mental compass to keep track of time, an insurance of safety, for Namjoon it’s pure torture. A sun ray filtering from the window curtains of his bedroom hurtfully hits his face, burning over his closed lids and waking him up.

He has a terrible headache, the wound hurting like crazy and pulsating, probably the effect of the anesthetic is over. After a moment of hesitation spent mindlessly looking around the room, he gets up and goes to the bathroom, where he starts rummaging into the drawers under the sink, looking for some painkillers.

“These will do”, he tells himself, while pushing two pills out of a plastic blister and swallows them with a glass of tap water, then he proceeds to look at his face in the mirror: a deep pair of dark circles under his eyes and a greyish pallor make him look sick. Of course the last one wasn’t his calmest night, but he didn’t think he would look like that in the morning. Also, who the hell brought him back home and put him to bed? It doesn’t really matter at the present time, but he makes a mental note to ask about it, later.

He stays still, in front of the mirror, stretching his face’s skin, then decides to take a shower, so he rips off the bandage from the wound, with a whimper, and undresses himself, before sliding the glass door and pulling the cold steel handle of the shower. Warm water drizzles all over his face and chest, sliding down in a sprawling waterfall on his limbs.

Namjoon lets out a deep breath of relaxation.

Pearl.

Jin.

Whoever he is.

He still feels his kisses on his mouth and neck, hurtfully pleasant, and for as much as he tries not to think about it, what happened with him is the last memory he can recall from the previous night. Usually, he wouldn’t give any of his hook-ups a second thought, but the fact is that Pearl was not a hook-up. There’s something intoxicating and intriguing about him that he can’t get out of his mind, a sadness, a fierceness, a rage he has just caught a glimpse of and which he already doesn’t want to give up on. It was all his fault if their meeting ended with the worst possible outcome, he knew that very well, but he just couldn’t persuade himself that that was it, that they’d never see each other again, that it was all gone to waste.

There had to be more.

There must have been more.

Frustrated, Namjoon spends a lot more than necessary under the shower, lathering his body in soft foam and massaging his tense and sore muscles in an attempt to find a relief which doesn’t seem prone to come easily this time. The one that started as a relaxing shower is turning into a stressful experience, at least he feels slightly better once cleaned, but he’s way far from being calm and relieved.

Once he’s dressed, he finally checks his phone. First, the agenda: there’s not much scheduled for the day, even though he’ll have to call Solar to better understand which ones the next steps in their deal are and have dinner with Jungkook, Hoseok and Yoongi. There are a few texts from them, apparently, all quite concerned about him, to which he answers with a quick copy and paste: _I’m fine, dinner tonight at 8:00 p.m., my place, be on time._

Then, a notification pops to his eyes. Jackson.

_Busy?_

_No, great timing. No work today?_ Namjoon quickly answers. He doesn’t really feel like meeting him, Jackson can be a huge nuisance when he wants to, so he hopes that today he’ll be willing to stay on his good side or he’ll have to kick him out faster than how he’ll let him in.

_No._ He sees him typing. _Can we hang out?_

_Of course, I’ll be waiting._ He knows Jackson will understand, so he just proceeds to spray his neck and chest with his usual perfume, deeply inhaling the fragrance with a certain complacency, before he buttons up the linen shirt. He checks himself in the mirror to make sure everything about his outfit is in place and flawless.

Namjoon looks always good, and he’s aware of that, but there’s this bittersweet taste in his mood today that he simply doesn’t seem to be able to shake off his back. He doesn’t understand where this is coming from or why he doesn’t seem capable to wrap his head around the events regarding Pearl or the reason why that man has made such a mark in his mind, all he knows is he doesn’t like to be like this.

He makes stupid decisions when he’s frustrated, and this is the worst time possible to fuck up.

Rolling his tongue nervously in his mouth and sucking his cheeks in, since he hates to be kept waiting, he checks his watch. It’s been an hour since he talked to Jackson, so where the hell is he? Usually it doesn’t take him more than 20 minutes to be knocking on his door. This is weird.

After a few more minutes, Namjoon hears the doorbell ring and walks to the door with a certain nervousness in his steps, he’s upset, nervous and lowkey annoyed, definitely not in the mood to hear excuses. He welcomes him in pulling him in by the hem of his jacket and goes straight for the neck, aggressively kissing and biting it through angry groans, while the other man whimpers and laughs, with a hint of surprise in his tone.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Jackson says with a challenging smile on his lips.

Namjoon’s fingers run all over the smooth fabric of his white suit, digging in the flesh of his hips and pulling him even closer, in order to grind on his groin with his own. He’s really not into foreplay today. He wants it, and he wants it now.

“Not in the mood for little talk, Mr. CEO.” He says angrily, pushing him towards the living room, on the sofa, with quick steps that Jackson just instinctively follows, not smiling anymore. He knows what this means. He’s only there as a bootycall, and he hates Namjoon for that, for treating him like that, just as much as he hates himself for complying with his wishes. It’s going to be angry sex, he sees that, and gets both mad and turned on, cursing at his stupid self for liking Namjoon so much to allow that damn man to make a fool out of him. He’s the rampant heir and CEO of a huge tech company, he could have whoever he wanted drooling at his feet, and yet there he is, in the house of one of the most dangerous men he knows, helping him to take off his shirt and ready to let him possess his body. Little does Namjoon know that he also own his soul. If only Jackson wouldn’t be as cold and lucid as he is capable of being, he’d be crying like a schoolgirl.

Namjoon is breathing on Jackson’s bare chest, he loves to take a minute to get even more aroused at the sight of his body, but it’s not making the trick this time. He still sees Jin in front of him. He is still fantasizing about being busy contemplating his bare skin to focus on the man under himself, so he needs to bend his head back and take a deep breath, running his hands on Jackson’s skin and playing with the zipper of his trousers, while struggling to visualize in his mind the same scene, but with a different actor involved.

He takes off the other man’s trousers and boxers in one quick strike of his hands.

Jackson winces with a sonorous gasp at the feeling of the fabric being pulled so harshly off his skin, running his palms on Namjoon’s chest. He can feel his warmth through the shirt and longs to feel it all over him, he pulls him close and starts fidgeting around the buttons of the shirt while burying his nose in the notch of his neck. That perfume, he remembers it so well, so sensual and warm and spicy to make him twitch at the very smell of it. He licks the skin in adoration, like he could lick the love out of him this way, like he could make him feel his own just by that, even though it’s just a cruel illusion.

Soon enough Namjoon’s hands are wrapped around his lover’s erection and slowly start to work their magic on it with their touch, as in the meantime he rubs himself on his smooth, inner thighs, still imagining what would Jin’s face be, if he would enjoy that, how would he look when completely overwhelmed by pleasure, what sounds he would make, how fast would his breath be, but unfortunately Jackson let out a moan in that very moment, completely breaking his fragile fantasy.

“On your knees.” Namjoon said dryly, more infuriated than ever, visibly turned on and frustrated for the interruption.

The man turned around and obeyed, holding himself up by pushing his elbows on the sofa and lifting his hips to meet Namjoon’s hands. He begins to lightly scratch his back, observing, hypnotized, the red marks he left all over, and then knelt to bite his hips and suck the skin in his mouth, marking him all over, almost eating him, worked out with passion and lust. Then, his attention is driven way lower than on his back. He sinks his long fingers in the flesh, moaning and biting his lower lip, fiercely aroused by such a primal contact. Heat and blood flush his limb as he licks his fingers and patiently prepares Jackson to embrace it as effortlessly as possible, growing burning hot and delightfully wet just by his hands’ performance. When he hears him moan, he feels a twitch between his legs: he is reaching his limit, he’s almost unbearably and dripping wet, he needs to have him, right there, right then.

Namjoon holds himself up with a tight grip on Jackson’s shoulder, with one hand, and on his hip, with the other, then he finally slides inside him, slowly, eyes closed, enjoying each and every inch of his welcoming insides’ grasp around his length and letting out a deep groan, before he starts thrusting, delicately at first, until he understands that he can go on him faster and harder, in a crescendo of excitement, satisfaction, fulfillment, hitting all the right spots with a perfect tempo. Their bodies keep clashing together, feeding off of the wild appeasement they find in each other, sweating together, driven by the sound of their breaths, moans, sighs, and eventually screams, as they find their relief at the same time in an unholy yet poetic climax. Namjoon stays still inside of him for a few seconds more, panting, visibly drained, shaking, while Jackson reclines his head between the shoulders, curving his back like a feline, aching and contented at the same time. As the former pulls out, he lets out a loud sigh and curls on the carpet, just to watch him stand up and leave. The jerk doesn’t even spend a few seconds next to him, he doesn’t touch him afterwards, nothing. Not that he expected any form of cuddling or shit- just humanity. He should know by now that he’s not that kind of guy, they’ve been doing this for quite a long time now, but he just can’t get over it. He can’t get over how replaceable, contingent, unnecessary and used he feels every fucking time, and yet there he is, feeling utterly depressed because of a hook up _he himself_ suggested. If there were a prize for the most self-destructive judgement, he would be the undiscussed winner. Jackson gets up and puts on his now crinkled clothes and just leaves. He’s going to need quite an amount of vodka to get over this encounter.

The second shower of the day is even worse than the first one.

Namjoon is furious at his behavior: what the fuck was this for? What did he think he would get out of fucking Jackson, for the umpteenth time?

He’s mad, thwarted, disappointed and most of all ashamed of himself, so much he couldn’t even stand to stay next to him afterwards, to ask him if he enjoyed it, to be at least a decent human being towards the man he just had an intercourse with. Of course Jin got away from him right away, as soon as he glimpsed his true nature. He hates the conviction that he doesn’t deserve him in the slightest way just as much as he hates the idea of being so pathetically crushing for someone. What is he, fourteen? But then again, he can't help himself from looking at the horrendous person he has become.

He's revolting and incapable of any type of relationship that transcends making deals and killing or using people, he doubts he was born with the capability to love at all.

What if he is so deeply rotten that he is tricking himself into believing that he truly loves his friends, as well?

What if it’s a fucked up psychological mechanism that his mind uses to persuade him that he is, after all, able to feel affection, to care about someone else than himself, to be _normal_?

What if it’s all a lie?

All his friendships, his only true relationships, what if they’re nothing but a lie?

Those thoughts keep on crowding his head, incredibly fast and loud, and as he hits his temples with his fists, in order to push them away, one of them screams, louder than the other ones, _JIN DIDN’T WANT YOU, JIN WILL NEVER WANT YOU, JIN KNOWS, JIN SEES_ , in an excruciating loop that drives him to throw a fist at the shower’s door with so much force to crash the thick glass in a million splinters. He crumbles down on himself, under the still streaming shower’s jet, not minding how his head has started aching again or the blood flowing from the wounds on his harmed, clenched fist.

As said, he makes stupid decisions when he’s frustrated.

And, he has to remind himself, this is the worst time possible to fuck up.

_Don’t fuck up._

_Don’t fuck up._

_Don’t fuck up._

“Don’t let the dark side of yourself get you”, he says out loud, before deciding to take a look at his maimed hand.

“Well, looks like I’ll have to call doctor Oh.”

 


	5. Era of the Snake: 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Every man is capable to kill, death is no big deal, after all: Namjoon knows this well.  
> Death is a moment.  
> Fear is eternal.  
> Fear is an untamable monster with a thirst unending that could never be appeased if not by sucking dry those who it would cling on.  
> Namjoon wished, in a time very far away from now, to become a master of fear, and only the ever-seeing eye of the moon knew how much he committed to succeed in the task."
> 
> -
> 
> Fear.
> 
> He smiles with an amused whimper.
> 
> That dude is fucking scared.
> 
> Whoever awaits behind that door, Namjoon already likes them, he can recognize a nice work of coercion and psychological plagiarism when he sees one, and that reaction is on the same level as the one of Pavlov’s dogs. A neat job indeed. He starts to think that he might have to learn a lesson or two from someone capable of doing such a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I am finally back with this update: this is a definitely more plot-centered one, which thing I hope you won't mind.  
> It took me so long to update because I have basically found myself writing a beast of a chapter, a 22 pages long one (I know, what the fuck?) and only later realized that it would be definitely more convenient to divide it in half, so hopefully chapter 6 will be out reasonably soon after this one.  
> Sorry for taking advantage of your patience, I hope you will understand and bear with my inconsistency.
> 
> Anyways, now for the warning: THERE IS SMUT. It's a very soft smut, but should you want to skip it, please take note that the smut section begins at "Hana stands up from the chair she has been sitting on" and ends at "Hana, tonight, is hungry for bliss."
> 
> As per usual, thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for taking time to comment or leave kudos, you definitely make my day and give me such a steady motivation to work more and better. 
> 
> I wish you a pleasant read and I will see you next time!
> 
> If you want to keep in touch, please follow me on twitter at @persefoneregina

# Era of the Snake: 5

 

After the contract has been signed, after blood has been spilled, nothing has been the same anymore.

Every single criminal gang in that goddamned beast of a city has been freaking out and fucking around in shock about the Dragons suddenly going missing. They had ruled the underworld of that city for more than 15 years and then they were gone in a heartbeat, almost as quickly as they had risen back in the days.

Saying hell is about to break loose is a nice way to put how things are drifting apart, and Namjoon has known from the beginning how handling that whole situation would have been an unprecedented pain in the ass: his one is a rising mob, for as much as they are beginning to get their fair share of spotlight, they have been looked down upon by most of the previously existing groups and families, so it is now time for retaliation and rebuke, even though the task has turned out to be almost overwhelming.

Nonetheless, things are ironically making themselves easier by the ridiculous behavior of many of those families and mobs, which, once heard the news about the unpredictable death of Ji-Yong and his men, have felt free to begin to blindly and thoughtlessly fight one against the other: with no one strong enough to keep the balance and to guarantee for the previously agreements, most of them have felt entitled to go back about solving personal feuds with blood being spilled, each trying to have the best on the other ones and all of them aiming to replace the Dragons, yet none of them having the capability to succeed in the task. Of course those men were powerful ones, but their bloodlust has as a consequence the fatal tendency to forget the crucial point about the brand-new situation the city is in: this isn’t a time for wars.

This is a time for alliances.

What those men don’t consider is that Ji-Yong might have been a madman, but he indeed knew how to have a hold on them without the need to spill a single drop of blood: his true lesson was about how power is gained through information and fear, rather than raw murder.

Every man is capable to kill, death is no big deal, after all: Namjoon knows this well.

Death is a moment.

Fear is eternal.

Fear is an untamable monster with a thirst unending that could never be appeased if not by sucking dry those who it would cling on.

Namjoon wished, in a time very far away from now, to become a master of fear, and only the ever-seeing eye of the moon knew how much he committed to succeed in the task.

He has been living and breathing and plotting for this moment to come and he just won’t give up now that he sees his chance coming.

Indeed, the rumors about them being the Dragonslayers, that’s how they are now being called, have turned to their favor when it comes to meet with most of the other gangs.

Namjoon is an expert in many things, one of those being human nature: if there’s one thing he understands and has mastered through the years is how it works. Had he introduced himself as just the Monster, he could’ve never gotten to sit at a table with those men, who have been on the scene for years, and be taken into the congruous consideration he has been wishing for, but after he would introduce himself as the man who bears Ji-Yong’s blood on his hands he could see how those faces, that not so long ago would look at him with disdain, would turn pale and suddenly give him all the attention he desires.

Still, beginning to arrange meetings and dealing with some exponents of those groups has been exhausting and draining, for him as for his closest men, and the one Namjoon has been the most both worried and proud of so far is indeed Jungkook. His quiet demeanor, together with his swift mind and promptness have been standing out to Namjoon’s eyes so much that he hasn’t brought anyone with himself except the boy.

Namjoon had understood his potential the very day they met, but what he sees now is how all those years spent together have shaped him into a trustworthy, reliable and efficient individual, rather than a projection of his younger self which he wished to protect the way no one had done with him.

That’s why he’s taking Jungkook with him to meet two of the most relevant and influential people of that beast of a city.

It’s pitch dark outside of the mansion.

There’s no security, but Namjoon knows them too well to seriously believe the place is being left unguarded: they are probably being aimed at by a dozen snipers lurking in the surrounding buildings in that very second, which is only expected since those they are going to meet are the leaders of two strictly entwined congregations, one dedicated to money-laundering, the other being the boss of a gang of hitmen.

Of course they didn’t come alone.

Hoseok and Yoongi and a dozen of their most efficient and loyal men are watching over them from every possible corner of the block, armed to their teeth, and even though Namjoon trusts them with his life he’s still mad worried. He isn’t alone this time. He’s used to danger, he’s used to go on such expeditions by now, but this time the stakes are mad high and he just can’t afford to lose this hand.

When him and Jungkook reach the doorbell, a man in leather pants and with an intricate harness around his chest and neck opens up without the need to ring. His skin is slightly tanned and glimmers in the golden light of the hall.

“Please follow me.” He says in a lifeless tone.

Namjoon looks at Jungkook, who raises his eyebrows, dumbfounded by the peculiar reception.

“Namjoon, what the hell is this place?” he whispers in his ear.

“Fuck if I know. -he answers in the younger’s ear with a mutter- Let’s just go with G. I. Joe and find out.”

Jungkook has to hold a giggle.

Namjoon might be terrifying to most people, but not to him. To him he’s always soft, funny, caring, protective. He’s his teacher, his friend, the closest thing to family, and Jungkook can never thank him enough for making him feel safe at all time. It doesn’t matter who they’re facing: if he gets to be close to his chest, to hear his heartbeat, to smell the faint fragrance of salt and soap radiating from his skin, to barely feel their hands brushing one against the other, he knows he’s going to be ok.

If there’s Namjoon by his side, there is just no way he’s not going to be ok.

He might be the Monster for the world, but in his very own one he’s the purest creature to ever exist. If only he could tell him, if only he knew how to form words beautiful enough to explain what he means to him…

Jungkook is woken up from his daydream by the shocking feeling of Namjoon’s hand grabbing his own.

It’s warm.

It’s smooth.

It’s firm.

It’s strong.

It’s big.

They stop for a few seconds at a short distance from the man leading them.

“Listen up, Ggukie -God, how he loves when he calls him like that- I need you to be ready to alert Yoongi as soon as we walk into the room and begin this meeting. I know you remember, but make sure, as soon as we’re in, to ring him once. Just ONE ring. When he rings you back, what do you do?”

“I make a step forward and come closer to you.” Jungkook answers promptly. He loves to prove at any given time how reliable he has become, and Namjoon never fails to give him the chance to do so.

“Very good.”

Namjoon holds his hand faster one last time, before letting it loose, and catching up to the man ahead of them. Jungkook quickly follows with long steps. They walk up a staircase finely covered by a red and black silk carpet which makes their steps almost inaudible, while all they can hear is women moaning and mewling louder and louder as they get closer to a door at the end of the dark corridor they find themselves in. The weird individual who received them knocks a few times on the door, probably hoping to be loud enough to top the screams of pleasure coming from the inside.

“Yes?” A feminine voice asks out loud.

“Sorry to interrupt, Madam, but you have guests.” He answers in his apparently usual detached tone.

“Then make them fucking wait, you ass!” Another woman answers this time, angrily screaming, making that poor lad startle in shock. Namjoon notices how that man starts to tremble in the dim light.

_Fear_.

He smiles with an amused whimper.

That dude is fucking scared.

Whoever awaits behind that door, Namjoon already likes them, he can recognize a nice work of coercion and psychological plagiarism when he sees one, and that reaction is on the same level as the one of Pavlov’s dogs. A neat job indeed. He starts to think that he might have to learn a lesson or two from someone capable of doing such a thing.

After a couple of minutes of awkwardness, the first voice coming from the room says out loud to let them in.

The man opens the door for them holding his head down low and shuts it at their back, probably wanting to leave as soon as possible.

The room is hot and humid as hell, the air inside of it is heavy with fumes of rosewood being burned at its four corners in small, shining brass bowls. The windows are embraced by heavy, deep red, velvet drapes. At the center of the room sits a large, Empire-style, desk in mahogany wood, lacquered and enriched with gold foil details. A woman with a long mane of electric blue sits at it with her arms laying on the armrests of the matching chair, her incredibly pale skin is barely covered by a see-through white robe that obviously isn’t meant to be hiding anything about her body, but what is really striking about her is her dashing pair of ice blue eyes. She makes a gesture with one of her hands, pointing the two empty chairs across the desk at Namjoon and Jungkook. Moon phases are tattooed on her fingers, making Namjoon like her at first glance. In the meantime, Jungkook quickly unlocks the phone in his pocket and taps on Yoongi’s number. He waits for a second and hangs up. Namjoon takes a step forward towards the woman and leans his hand in, waiting for her to shake it, thing which doesn’t happen, with quite some disappointment of the leader, who just sits down. Jungkook waits for his phone to vibrate once, mentally thanking God for Yoongi being that quick with getting his signal, then proceeds to sit down as well, but avoiding making eye contact with the woman: he rather checks the room to study every possible way out in case things should go south during that meeting.

“Good evening gents and sorry about that…pet of mine, he tends to forget manners sometimes. -She finally speaks, with her eyes frantically bouncing from Namjoon to Jungkook and vice versa- So, I’ve heard you are the ones to whom we owe for getting rid of that shitbag of Ji-Yong and his so-called dragons…”

“Dragons? More like lizards, if you ask me.” A second woman, with a deeper voice, comes out of a shadowy corner near one of the windows, strutting in a catlike way with her large hips visibly swinging under the tight black dress embracing her curvy figure. As soon as the lights hit her, the men are almost blinded by the amount of diamond jewels she’s wearing: there’s a small tiara sitting on her head, a pair of heavy chandelier earrings, a choker, an undefined number of bracelets and her long, slim fingers are adorned with at least one ring each. Her completely white hair strike even more with her tanned, golden skin and absolute black eyes. Namjoon can’t help but noticing how every inch of her body is covered with tattoos, except for her face.

“So you must be the kittens who ate them, uh? -The white-haired woman looks at both of them with a smirk of pure amusement- God, what’s the world coming to.”

“So it seems, ladies. My name is…” Namjoon tries to speak, but gets abruptly interrupted by the woman sitting across him.

“Careful, baby boy. Names are dangerous. Choose wisely.” She lays her gaze on him, and suddenly Namjoon understands why that man was scared. Those two women inspire a sense of power and their presence itself is belittling to any interlocutor possible. He’s suddenly uncomfortable. Names. Everything keeps reminding him Pearl’s words about names.

_“That’s my name to you.”_

_“See, that’s exactly the kind of information I didn’t need nor want to know.”_

_“You could never understand in how many ways you could harm me, and after all why would you? You’re the Monster, how could you understand a whore?”_

Then, Namjoon understands. Names. Names are words. Words are symbols. Symbols are meanings.

_Of fucking course_.

“I am the Monster, and I’m here to deal.” His voice gets deeper than usual, there is a feeling of arousal within himself as he spells the word Monster out loud for them to hear.

The moment he refers to himself with such name, he feels powerful back again. He isn’t subjected to them anymore and understands their warning: those women aren’t interested in dealing with someone who’s scared of them, they have plenty of slaves for that, the man who greeted them is a perfect example of what they’re capable to obtain through the kind of power they exert on others. They want to talk with an equal or they won’t be interested at all, and Namjoon is deep down grateful for the subtle way they have given him a chance to step up his game by putting him to the test.

“Good. My name is Hana, and this is my friend…” Says the blue-haired woman with a half-smile sitting on her face.

“Nunji, but we’ll see if it was nice meeting you.” The other woman finishes the sentence, way less enthusiast that Hana.

“So, I have done some research and we seem to have a mutual friend, baby boy.” Hana says, holding up in her hand a picture, taken God knows when, of him and Jackson.

Namjoon shivers suddenly.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

How did it happen?

How did she find that?

How much does she know about their relationship?

That wasn’t expected, that is completely out of the blue and he doesn’t even know why but the fact that someone managed to dig so deep on his account makes him uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he admires Hana for having done her homework so well. For the first time ever since he has started meeting gang leaders, he regrets overlooking his interlocutor’s readiness. He never makes such mistakes and mentally scolds himself for being so stupid and biased to believe that a woman would have been easier to work with.

“Oh baby, you’re always so nosy -Nunji softly lectures her with a warm, sensual voice, while lightly scratching Hana’s face with her incredibly long, sharp, red nails- I have told you a thousand times it makes guests uncomfortable.” She bends over only to lick the other woman’s lips lustfully and whisper something in her ear that makes them both giggle. Namjoon doesn’t understand why but the whole scene is making him cringe and shiver at the same time. Those two look like a pair of massive, wild felines ready to rip them to pieces, even while they’re flirting, and the fact that he know what they’re capable of doesn’t help making him feel any safer than if he were in a lion’s den.

“What about him?” Namjoon eventually decides to put up the best poker face he can and try to be as calm and unbothered possible.

“Well, he happens to be very close to me. He’s a long-time partner of mine and he happens to have given to me quite a nice referee for you. I don’t like to brag, but believe me, you wouldn’t have made it to the door if he hadn’t guaranteed for you. I would trust Jackson with my life, so make sure to show some gratitude next time you see him, since I understand you’ve been naughty lately, Monster.” Hana cocks her head looking for Namjoon’s gaze insistently, unwilling to give up eye contact.

“Will keep that in mind, I guess I’ll have to send him flowers this time.” He laughs out loud, trying to get rid of his nervousness and to appear as chill as possible. They don’t seem to notice his bluff. Good for him.

“Anyway, to business. What Hana and I need to understand is something that so one else seems to have given the slightest thought about in this city. Now that Ji-Yong is gone, they’ve all been very busing jumping back atop of their high horses singing Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead, but us people with a brain know this isn’t going to last long. Now, this scenario has two possible outcomes: the first implies letting all those bloodthirsty animals massacre each other, we don’t move a finger or bat an eye until they come to a truce and afterwards we collect the survivors and see what we can work with, which I personally don’t mind but it could mean losing some valuable individuals in the process and, goes without saying, a great deal of mob muscle which, sad but true, is always needed to keep business going; the second one implies us coming up with a serious agreement and starting to pull our respective strings from the second we walk out of this room in order to draw the lines for a new order in the underworld before things go south. Of course, in both scenarios, we are willing to cooperate with you, and you only. We don’t usually do this since we’re both offering services that don’t come as an exclusive, our jobs are usually more… How to put that? Profit oriented. But we agreed to make an exception this time.” Nunji has both Namjoon and Jungkook hooked while speaking, both impressed by her charisma. She seriously makes it sound like she’s offering the best deal on earth, which scares Namjoon because he is spasmodically looking for the fraud in her words.

The leader of a gang of hitman, one of the most powerful women of the Country is talking to him about exclusive deals and Namjoon can’t help himself but to be wary. He sucks his cheeks in and bites them until they hurt.

_What am I missing?_

“You might want to excuse me, but why would you want to do that?” It’s Jungkook speaking this time.

Namjoon is shook. Jungkook never, and he means never, speaks during these meetings, but he’s not mad at him at all, if not he’s impressed at how they both thought about the same identical thing. This seems way too good to be true. They both know this is going way too smoothly, and this is never a good sign.

“Oh, look, Nunji, the baby doesn’t like you!” Hana lets out a loud laughter while Nunji just rolls her eyes.

“You seem to forget that if I wanted others to like me, I wouldn’t be killing people for a living.” She gives her a fierce, burning dirty look before going back to look at the men before her.

“What Nunji means is we are in for an agreement with you.” The blue haired woman tries to explain.

“And why now? Why us?” Namjoon intervenes, trying to make sure he understands what’s going on.

“Because you’re the Dragonslayers -Nunji bursts out, stressing her every word, visibly exhausted at how dense they must seem to be to her- And we’re going to need someone to take that clueless pig of Ji-Yong’s place. God, and people have the nerve to call you smart. Do you think I never had the chance to get rid of him? Had I wanted to, Ji-Yong and his clowns wouldn’t have lasted one fucking day in charge. But there was no one any better than him around, and all in all me, Hana and Jackson thought we’d just leave him in his position until we would’ve found someone with more potential to invest on. We couldn’t take his place for obvious reasons: Hana and I can only have our business going if we get to work out of the radar. No one can ever know who we are, where we live, who do we talk to, what we are on about. This very place could be empty by tomorrow and look like we never laid foot in here. We make our appearances for the shortest amount of time possible and then vanish, or we could never do what we do the way we do it. And Jackson? Hana likes him, but the boy’s a pansy. He’s way more useful in his position of CEO for the sake of Hana’s, and soon yours, business. We could never put him in charge of something like this, he’d wet his lace panties in no time. But then you show up and this round of event comes about, so it has seemed to us like the planets were aligning in our favor, at long last. We have been waiting for someone like you for a long time, Monster, and believe me, the three of us can make your life disgustingly easier if you are going to accept our helping hand. So, what do you say? Do you want us to put that fucking crown, that Solar so dearly promised you, on your head?”

Namjoon looks at Jungkook and the boy nods his head, showing him support and trust, as if he were telling him to do what he has to.

“I do. And I like the second scenario best.” He answers confidently, tapping his fingers on the desk.

“Amazing. Jackson told me you were a reasonable man -Hana says- Now, let’s discuss how this is going to work. First of all, how much do you earn on a weekly basis?”

Jungkook pulls out of the briefcase he’s bringing with himself a pile of papers with their bookkeeping, accounting, payroll, resources and all that jazz. Finally they’re talking numbers, he thinks to himself, all that foreplay was fucking exhausting.

After a couple hours of deep talking about the terms of their agreement and the services they would guarantee to provide each other with, Namjoon and Jungkook walk out of the room.

The latter rings Hoseok as soon as they walk down the stairs: it’s their signal meaning everything went well and that they’ll be waiting for him and Yoongi to pick them up in front of a restaurant not so far from the place. Hoseok rings back as soon as they walk out of the mansion, meaning they’re on their way.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Nunji looks at Hana lustfully and wraps her hands around the other’s neck, massaging her muscles. Hana closes her eyes, moaning in relief.

“You did amazing, kitten.” The white-haired woman says, bending over to kiss Hana on her lips, alternating bites with gentle tongue caresses.

“Mh-hm, and so did you, princess.”

Hana stands up from the chair she has been sitting on that whole time to grab Nunji by her hips and pulls her closer, proceeding to lick her all over her neck, from the earlobe down to the collarbones, while Nunji would scratch her back through the intangible fabric of the white robe and grab the toned flesh of her ass, sinking her fingers deep inside of it until she’d make Hana whimper with excitement.

“How can I reward you for being such a good girl for me, kitten?” Nunji asks her in a smug tone.

At that very question, Hana drops to her knees and climbs with her hands along the curves of Nunji’s legs, making room for herself through the slit of her dress.

“I was hoping that maybe my precious princess might allow me to taste heaven once again tonight…” She answers in her best baby voice, while rubbing her fingers along the fabric of her silk underwear.

“Of course you can, beautiful.” As soon as Nunji says so, Hana rips the refined underwear apart and slips a finger in the fissure midst of her perfectly smooth, warm, soft labia, only to pull it out a few seconds later and suck it in her mouth with a moan.

“You’re so sweet princess…”

“Then why aren’t you eating me already?”

Hana needs no more words to get down on her and forces Nunji to widen her legs with a harsh push of her hands, before slithering her head under her dress and beginning to lick and kiss her all over.

That’s what heaven tastes like and Hana, tonight, is hungry for bliss.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Namjoon is woken up by his phone ringing, the default ringtone, which he hasn’t changed ever since he bought the new mobile, resonates faintly from a pillow he must have kicked away in his sleep. He hasn’t been able to get a decent amount of sleep ever since the first night at the Psyké, haunted by nightmares riddled with gunshots, streams of blood flooding him, shouts, sounds of blades stabbing flesh, and the words of Pearl hammering in the background.

_You could never understand in how many ways you could harm me._

It’s so true it’s torturing him: he doesn’t understand human beings anymore, he doesn’t know what a normal person feels like, what a regular life is, what the concerns of other people are, he’s completely lost touch with reality and any inch of empathy he recalls having once had seems to have fled away.

He only understands criminals, how they think, how they behave, what they want.

He only understands fear, he knows way too well what it feels like to be afraid or to frighten someone.

He only understands death, damn, he knows a thousand ways to murder someone, you name them, he knows when and to whom apply each of them.

But life… Life is beyond his competences. He’s more proficient in survival.

After three rings, he groans and looks for the phone, touching around the soft, freshly washed, silk sheets with his hand, until he grabs it and answers without even checking who’s calling.

“Hello?” Namjoon’s deep voice is still slurry and sleepy, but he tries to sound as awake as possible.

“Rise and shine, dearest!” It’s Solar, with her usual sweet, warm voice.

“Oh, good morning Solar, how can I help you? Did we have a scheduled meeting by any chance…?”

“No, dearest, not at all. Matter of fact, I am calling you because I need a little favor. Of course feel free to ask for anything in return. You know I wouldn’t disturb you if I could manage an arrangement on my own, but this is something really important.” Her voice turns sweeter and sweeter as she speaks, as if that would make Namjoon accept her request more easily.

“Well first of all, and I’ve told you this about a thousand time by now, stop it with the slutty behavior. Tell me what is it that you need and let’s cut the bullshit.”

“Oh, no, not by phone, dearest. It’s a delicate matter. Do you mind if I swing by your place in, let’s say, a couple hours?” Soddenly Solar gets dead serious, which alerts Namjoon he’ll have to be careful about the matter.

“Not at all, I’ll be waiting. I’ll see you, then.”

“You sure will, dearest.”

Solar hangs up and Namjoon stares at the phone for a whole minute. Next thing he does is calling his housemaids to clean the house as fast as possible: there’s not much to be done, to be honest, since they would come anyway every two days, but still Namjoon likes to have everything sorted out and cared for in the smallest detail.

He then hits the bathroom for a thorough shower and a perfect, old school shave.

He particularly loves to take his time when it comes to shaving: it’s a ritual he puts lots of effort into and a great deal of attention.

 Whipping the shaving foam, smelling its mentholated fragrance, feeling its cooling effect on his face, all of these things have a traditional flavor that soothes him, not to mention his favorite part: the razor. He holds in his hand his old-fashioned razor, his fingers wrapped around the mother of pearl handle while he sharpens the already perfectly honed blade.

The whole idea of holding a sharp blade against his skin, cold and lethal, makes him shiver and arouses him at the same time, almost as much as a naked pretty boy.

When he’s finished, Namjoon caresses his smooth skin and pats in a faintly perfumed balm with a certain satisfaction.

Taking care of his looks is something soothing and appeasing, it’s an activity he takes particular pleasure into since it feeds his ego. Once he’s clean and tidy he comes out, carefully chooses an appropriate outfit and dresses up, paying attention not to wrinkle the starched shirt and the freshly ironed blue slacks. He might be quite familiar with Solar, but it’s still work and there’s no trespassing the dress code, at least not in his experience.

The looks are everything, clothing is not clothing, it’s a whole statement, it’s identity, it’s social roles, it’s a business card and Namjoon likes it how he likes his dealings: sharp, neat and flawless.

When he hears the housemaids leave, he shows up downstairs and takes a look at the mail and the newspapers, which they must have brought in for him, while sipping on a cup of Americano. The bitter taste of coffee hits his tongue like a punch and definitively wakes him up, giving Namjoon the final boost to start off the meeting with Solar.

After a few minutes, which Namjoon spends sending Hoseok and Yoongi updates about that unattended call he received in the morning (he spares Jungkook since he knows he’s probably sleeping and right now it’s not of the essence for him to know about it), the doorbell rings.

“Hello Solar. Please, come in.” He says, with a wide gesture of his hand.

The woman is as beautiful as always, wearing a white sundress and a pair of red high heeled shoes, matching her purse, blonde locks waving on her thin shoulders.

“Thank you very much for making time to meet me.” She softly says with a smile.

Namjoon makes her way to the living room and points at the sofa.

“Please, make yourself at home. Can I get you something? Tea, coffee, water…?”

“I’ll have some champagne, thank you.” Solar answers, before sitting on the sofa in an extremely elegant and still pose.

In another life she would’ve made an amazing model, Namjoon thinks. In another life she wouldn’t need to have champagne for breakfast. As much as she wants it to appear like an act of sophistication, he knows it’s a pathological behavior, but still he decides to comply and brings her a flute of champagne before sitting on the armchair across the tea table.

“So, this favor…” Namjoon starts to talk, but Solar shuts him up and takes out her phone from the purse, turns it off and puts it on the tea table. Namjoon lifts his brows and does the same.

“Better now. Sorry, but I have my reasons for being cautious. -she says, then takes a short pause to adjust the hem of her dress around her thighs, like Namjoon could give a fuck about them, and goes on with her speech only after puffing out a stressed-out breath- So, I have these two boys, two fairies, as we like to call them. I picked them up from the streets some years ago, saw the potential. Pretty faces, sexy moves, great bodies, angel voices, raised for the profession. Two twinks born to be fucked. I invested quite some money on them and of course I need to make the most profit out of them, and believe me, they’re valuable. Best thing is- they’re virgins, so I am planning to sell their mizuage. I plan to hold an auction for both of them in a week, an exclusive one, only the best clients of the Psyké will be invited of course since we’re talking luxury goods, but I thought we might need a little help with the…security.”

Namjoon rolls his neck with a crackling sound of bones snapping. He is already upset at the idea of going back at the Psyké, the last person he wishes to meet is Jin, plus this whole thing sounds like a humungous waste of time and Namjoon hates the idea of being hired for such a ridiculous occurrence.

“Solar.”

“Yes?”

“Are you trying to fuck with me?” His voice sounds like the roar before a lightning.

“What now?” Solar leaves out a loud breath and rolls her eyes.

“Do think we’re playing around here? Do I look like the kind of man who has time to spare on a fucking whore auction?”

“May I intrigue you with the guest list? -Solar promptly pulls out of her purse a folded sheet of artisanal lilac paper and hands it to the man, holding it in between of her index and middle finger. He grabs it and unfolds it, suddenly his eyes widen. – I thought so. I want you to meet a couple of those gentlemen, they may come in handy in order to expand our businesses, but it needs to be a very restricted reunion after the auction. You, me and no one else. No one has to know what’s going to happen. Not even your men.”

The look in Solar’s eyes has become dead serious, any of her usual, sexy playfulness has suddenly left her body to reveal a feline fierceness as her icy irises glisten with a thrilled light. There he recognizes the same eagerness, the same lust that moves him as well, he recognizes her as his equal.

Namjoon can feel how the both of them are predators looking for a richer and richer hunt every time, unstoppable, insatiable, unendingly hungry for more, willing to bite more that they can chew, even if it means swallowing their preys whole. Namjoon caresses with a certain tension his silver uroboros pinned on his jacket. A snake biting his tail. Death and rebirth. Destruction and renewal. He feels how his tail is now interlacing with Solar’s one. The two snakes are ready to go on a hunt together. It’s not business Solar is talking about. It’s not a stupid auction for a tight asshole. Meeting those men… It’s a symbolic action the one they’re plotting, and if everything should go the way they’re planning, the meal is going to be enough to have them satisfied for months, before the next hunt.

“This sounds a lot better from how you put it in the first place.” Namjoon reclines his back on the armchair, broadening his shoulders to meet the soft backrest, as his shirt enhances the shape of his chest following his movements.

“Not a word to your men. You tell them you’re coming as a personal favor.” She’s definitely not asking.

“And what am I supposed to do? Tell them we’re going to be working as fucking bodyguards because you snapped your fingers and flapped your lashes?” Namjoon bursts in laughter. He’s fine with everything, but there’s no way he’s lying to Hoseok, Yoongi and Jungkook.

“Listen, you’re not going to be just bodyguards. During the whole event there will be two of you in the auction hall and two with the boys, one for each of them, to escort them from their rooms to the hall and back. You will need to keep your eyes wide open, those two fairies are worth more money than you and I make in six months, and we know we make a lot. I don’t want casualties happening that night, there’s going to be way too much going on and I won’t be able to have my eyes everywhere. Those men, the ones on the list… They’re not exactly what I would call a flock of lambs. Most of them hate each other guts and I have to make sure each and every one of them walks in and out harmless, at least the ones you and I want to.”

Solar gives Namjoon an understanding look.

“Should be a piece of cake, we’re used to handling pricklier situations, you have my word. So, the two boys are the goods to watch over, uh?” Namjoon starts making his mental arrangements.

“Indeed they are. I shall need your best men for this job. The most trusted and skilled ones. Possibly, with some experience in handling such tasks.” She catches up quickly with Namjoon’s train of thought, leaning forward and looking at him straight in the eyes.

“I’ve got you covered, I just happen to have the right men for you.” He gives her a knowing smile as an answer and stands up to go towards the kitchen and fill up her glass.

“So, let’s go through the details: I will need a detailed schedule of the event and a blueprint of the building, in order to coordinate the movements of my men and to establish some checkpoints where they’ll have to reach out for me to make sure everything is going according to plans. I shall do my in-depth researches about your guests, of course, you might want to let me borrow your registration books and ledgers, which would help me and make things a lot quicker, the sooner you provide them the better. As I said, I hate wasting my time and it looks like we’ll have quite some work to do.” The man enumerates the list of such things on his fingers, before interlacing them. Solar nods and smiles.

“Not an issue at all, but those books are not leaving the Psyké. You can come and check them for as long as you like there, I’ll make sure to have a room prepared for you and provide you with my best man to attend your every need.”

Of course she wouldn’t have made things easy.

_Of fucking course_ , Namjoon thinks, _everything is always a tug of war with Solar_.

He knows she doesn’t trust him that much and he can’t blame her. Neither does he. They both know too well those of their kin, so Namjoon is not really mad at her, actually he’s quite amused of how smart she proves to be every time they talk business.

“I was hoping you’d be more cooperative, but I’ll do it just because every second spent arguing withdraws time from my work and God knows I have a shit ton of things to deal with right now, your tantrums being the last issue on my list. You’re getting cocky, Solar. Don’t expect me to be like this every time -he leans forward and wraps his hand around the small neck of his partner, caressing it at first, then fastening his grip on the soft flesh as his nail slowly dig into her white skin- You never know when I’ll run out of patience and eventually _snap._ ” Namjoon whispers in a deep and threatening tone, making sure Solar looks into his eyes the whole time.

She tries not to give it away, but Namjoon is sure she is terrified at his touch.

_Good_.

Of course he likes working with the woman, until now she hasn’t been problematic in any way, yet she has this attitude, from time to time, that makes him want to put her back to her place at all costs.

_Patience_.

The lesson of the snake: patience.

In times of rattling, like this one, he needs to muster all of his instincts and keep them at bay.

The time to bite will come, he’s sure.

Right now all he can do is try to hiss louder and observe, looking for the perfect spot to dig his teeth in.

 

 

 


	6. Era of the Hound: 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What can you do? I am making amend for my sins. After all, it’s just my body. They can have it. They won’t break me.” His answer looks more like a self-encouraging speech, Taehyung is trying as hard as he can to convince himself that that’s just an accident, a collateral part of his life, but it’s clear as day how really terrified he is.
> 
> “Nah, that’s not how I see it. You may see it as just your body, but your body is still you. Your body is an essential part of yourself, don’t degrade it to a random happenstance that can be sacrificed to the altar of atonement. I’m sure that, whatever your faults may be, no one of them deserves such punishment.”
> 
> “Oh, to be fair this is the perfect price of retaliation.” He murmurs is his deep yet caressing voice.
> 
> -
> 
> Sexy, flirty, playful.
> 
> That’s what men like.
> 
> That’s what he’s going to be liked for by them.
> 
> Well, not by the one who’s in his room now, but that’s not about him now.
> 
> “So, you’re really not going to talk to me?” Jimin asks in disbelief.
> 
> “Do I have to? I never agreed to do that, believe me, I’d recall if I did.” Yoongi answers with the sharpest tone he manages to pull off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Nice to see you here again!  
> Finally we are stepping out of the Era of the Snake and walking into the first chapter of the Era of the Hound.  
> What does it mean? What do these animals stand for? Well, you'll discover it further into the story, but feel free to make your guesses and, if you want to, share your theories about it with me on Twitter (@ persefoneregina).  
> As you might have noticed from the tags, there are some couples that haven't come together yet.  
> You might very well be wondering if I have forgotten them...The answer is, goes without saying, no! They're here and you'll be able to appreciate their first meetings in this chapter, so look forward to that, and if you've been patient enough and waited until this point, kudos to you and thanks for bearing with me.
> 
> Anyways, for the warnings: there is a smut section, which goes from "As soon as the door shuts closed and the two leave the room" to "Jimin then pats on the bed".  
> Feel free to skip that if it makes you uncomfortable, I can assure it's not of the essence.
> 
> As always, please have a pleasant read and I hope to get your feedbacks via comments, kudos and/or Twitter.
> 
> I love you all so, so dearly!

# Era of the Hound: 1

 

A loud knock hits Jimin and Taehyung’s bedroom door.

The two boys are laying on Taehyung’s bed, laughing, when they get interrupted by the harsh sound the wood makes when anyone would hit it.

Jimin rushes to open up the door and there he finds Pearl and Taemin standing.

“Hello babies -Pearl’s voice greets them, loud as usual- Time to do some fittings for your big day. Excited much?”

The tall man walks inside the room, holding in his arms a countless amount of expensive, brand-new clothes, which he mindlessly throws on Jimin’s bed like a pile of rags, before elegantly laying down on a quite old chaise longue in a corner.

Taemin swiftly begins to sort them through, making two distinct piles, one for each boy, and, once he’s done, he carefully hangs them on the doors of their only closet.

“Come on cuties, take off your clothes.” Pearl says, his tone giving away a certain rush.

Taehyung undresses easily, like it’s no big deal at all. Coming from many years spent in a Buddhist monastery, he’s used to getting naked in front of other men: it’s just his body, there’s nothing embarrassing, dirty or shameful about it, that’s what he’s been taught ever since he was a child. His slender and elegant bone structure, his golden skin, his soft yet thin body, everything about him is meant to be admired and looked at with awe and adoration, not to mention the perfection of his facial features, and what’s best is that the boy isn’t the slightest aware of his charms.

Pearl stands up and picks up a couple of outfits from the closet’s door, putting them in front of the young boy as he mentally tries to figure out which ones could work best on him.

Eventually, he decides to make him try out the one he likes best. A golden belt gently sits around the soft line of his hips, with cloths of orange and yellow voile, embroidered with gold thread, draped at the front and at the back. Pearl carefully puts a pastel yellow silken shawl around his shoulders, then adorns his ankles and wrists with golden chains of different shapes and sizes, finishing the job by placing a few turquoise, gold and bone necklaces around his long, thin neck. Once he has finished, he pushes Taehyung forward and looks at Taemin and Jimin with an enthusiast, eager gaze, awaiting for their reaction.

Jimin opens his mouth a few times but words just don’t come out, completely starstruck at how dashing his best friend looks: he has never seen him look that good ever since they have met, his body is pure perfection to his eyes and he is somehow feeling a sense of pride about how amazing he looks, how much everyone is going to admire his beauty.

Taemin is the one who breaks the silence with a loud hand clap and a happy giggle.

“Gorgeous! Absolutely gorgeous! -he says, gently caressing the necklaces sitting on his chest and cupping Taehyung’s face in his hands- Look at how the turquoise beads make his skin glow! We should enhance it with some highlighting dust all over his body, uh, Jin? What do you say?”

“You know what? You’re right, we really should. And we should use some eyeliner to make his gaze more captivating and sensual, after all it would be a crime not to enhance his peculiar eye shape.” Jin adds, studying his face up close.

“What about my eyes?” Taehyung asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Have you never noticed how one has a monolid and the other one has a double lid?” Jimin is the one to speak now, dumbfounded at how his best friend could have seriously been so unaware about such a distinctive feature.

“To be honest… No. Do you think they’ll like me less? Am I imperfect?” Taehyung sounds and looks like a puppy as he rushes to the mirror, eyes filled up with tears.

“No, you big dummy! What we’re all saying is that they’ll like you even more because you’re so unique!” Jimin laughs at how cute his friend has suddenly gotten and hugs him tight, while smooching his cheek.

“Hey, Jin, why haven’t you ever been this nice to me?” Taemin asks, with a hint of a pout on his face.

“Oh, shut up, you brat, I’ve basically raised you as my own.” Jin wraps his arm around Taemin, making him suddenly look small at the comparison with the broad torso of the elder man.

“Now, time for your fitting, pretty.” Taemin says, making Jimin suddenly blush _. He called him pretty_.

Jimin looks at him with his eyes widened in anxiety, as he feels his stomach clenching at each step Taemin takes towards him. God, he’s handsome in that white shirt he’s wearing, and his perfume smells so good… He can’t look at his neck without wishing to be able to get closer and feel the warmth of his skin against his lips. It’s something different from the instinct he feels towards Taehyung: whenever he wants to kiss Tae, he knows he can just do it at any time, it’s effortless and spontaneous, it comes naturally, just as breathing; but when it comes to Taemin even the smallest kind of skinship between them makes Jimin all flustered and awkward, whenever he comes to correct his posture or mindlessly touches his hand or arm Jimin can feel his chest burning and his cheeks glowing red. When it comes to Taemin, his desire to kiss him is anything but effortless. He’s soon woken up from his fantasy by the voice of his elder talking to him.

“Hey, Jimin, you there?” Taemin fans his hand in front of his face, smiling gently with his plush, rosy lips.

“Uh- Yes, yes I am, sorry. I was… Focusing. I’m a bit worried about the auction.” He bluntly lies.

“How come so? Have you seen yourself?” The man’s hands touch his shoulders and lightly caress them, flowing down on his chest and torso.

Jimin shuts his eyes, he feels a shiver run down his spine and a flush of blood rushing to his most private parts, exposed in front of all of them to see. He tries to think about anything else, literally anything but Taemin’s touch all over his body, or his sexy voice, or his perfect moves while dancing… He obviously fails, and what should have never happened, fatally happens.

Luckily enough, Taemin is right before him, hiding his erection from Taehyung and Pearl, but right because of his position, he eventually ends up noticing.

Jimin is on the brink of tears, wishing he could just disappear or die right on the spot.

“Hey, Jin, how about you put that eyeliner on Taehyung in the meantime? We should definitely see how it looks on him before the auction. I would hate it if it turned out to be bad at the last minute.” Taemin suddenly suggests, turning his head towards the two men at the back.

“But I haven’t brought it with me.” Jin objects.

“Well, then, take the boy to your room and just do it, I’m sure he will be careful around your beloved belongings.”

“Oh, he better -Jin answers, turning to Taehyung afterwards- Come on, kid. He’s right, we have to find out what is going to suit you best.”

As soon as the door shuts closed and the two leave the room, Taemin gets closer to Jimin and wraps his hands around his neck.

“T-thank you, really… I’m so, so, so sorry about my…” Jimin tries to speak, but his throat runs dry at the touch of the other man and he completely loses his reason when their eyes meet.

Those frost grey irises are tempting and filled with overwhelming desire. Jimin tries to keep the eye contact as much as he can, but he eventually closes his lids when the elder kisses him, pulling their bodies closer together.

“Oh, Jimin… Pretty baby… Precious baby…” His voice is lapping his ears like a solar flare, while he gets pushed backwards by the man and gently falls on his bed.

Jimin looks at him with disbelief as he kisses every inch of his skin, then lets his head fall back and lets of a sigh of pleasure, while Taemin’s hand reaches for his erection and his mouth works its way around the girth with kitten licks.

“So beautiful, Jimin, you’re such a masterpiece.” He whispers in the most sensual tone the boy has ever heard in his entire life, making him twitch and drip at every stroke of his tongue.

“P-please Taemin, I…” Jimin is desperate for more.

At this point he isn’t even worried about the chance of Jin and Taehyung walking into them, or Hwasa coming to check the results of the fitting, or anything else that isn’t the spasmodic need to burst out with pleasure.

Taemin keeps on stroking his length, only making his pace faster, then slower, then again faster, in the sweetest form of torture men could’ve ever come up with in all of human history.

“If you only knew how much I’ve wanted this, how much I’ve wanted you… My gorgeous prince…”

These are the last words Jimin hears him pronounce, before his wet, plush lips gently disclose around the pink, round tip of his cock, sucking on it the way a baby would do onto his favorite lollipop, while letting out satisfied moans and sexy giggles at the younger’s reactions: his body trembles every time his mouth’s grip gets tighter around him and he mewls in a catlike way, thrusting his hips upwards instinctively, wanting more and more.

Jimin grabs the blanket with his tiny hands, painfully aroused, scrunching his lids. His lips part to make a louder moan, but Taemin is quicker than the sound and shoves two of is fingers inside of Jimin’s mouth, determined to not allow the boy to give them both away.

“Suck on these, pretty prince, we don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?” He whispers and Jimin, looking just like a baby, obeys and shakes his head.

Taemin looks one last time at him, with a deadly glare, before licking his lips and going down on him, taking all of Jimin’s dick in his mouth and blowing him with such eagerness and passion that it’s just a matter of a few minutes before Jimin’s eyesight goes blank and he clenches his jaw, biting on the elder’s fingers to help himself from screaming while Taemin keeps on going down on him, even after he has orgasmed, cleaning him off with his tongue and showering him all over with gentle kisses.

Jimin then pats on the bed, silently asking Taemin to lay next to him. He complies with his requests and they kiss, without saying a word. The boy feels his heart racing every time their lips meet, and Taemin smiles tenderly in between of every kiss, while gently caressing his face with the back of his fingers.

“It was so… How do I say this?” Jimin looks at his lover with his big, blue eyes.

“I think the word you’re looking for is _intense_.” He answers, kissing him on his nose and brushing his cheek with his thumb.

“ _Intense_ … Yes, yes it was. Oh, Taemin, what the heck have we done?” The boy suddenly gets sad and turns his face away, while a sense of bitterness and regret crawls under his skin. He shouldn’t have let any of that happen, and the worst part is it’s all his fault. If only he hadn’t allowed himself to grow so fond of Taemin, if he had stayed more professional, he wouldn’t be in that kind of mess now, and it’s not even because of the blowjob, but because he knows they will never be able to have any kind of relationship. They’re whores, and they’ll be there probably until the end of their days, catching a feeling for each other is such a stupid thing Jimin is impressed he has managed to be this dumb.

 _That’s the thing with you, Jimin, you never think_.

“Hey, hey, hey, stop it. Baby, I mean it, stop it.” Taemin cups his face, wet with tears, into his hands and kisses them away with light pecks that feel like butterflies fluttering their wings on his eyes.

“This won’t work out, we both know it.” Jimin says sighing.

“Jimin, please… Sweet prince… Just be here with me, ok? Promise this to me. That right now we’ll be here, together, enjoying and treasuring this moment. I’m not regretting this the slightest and there's nothing that will ever make me change my mind.” He hugs him tight and lets the boy curl up on his chest as he holds him even tighter and gently showers him with kisses  on the head.

“Baby? Jiminie?” Taemin asks when he feels the breath of the boy become calmer and more regular.

“Uhm?”

“We should really find you something to wear for that damn auction now, precious.”

The two lovers smile at each other and share one last, sweet, slow kiss, their soft lips almost melting one over the other, before parting and getting down to business.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hoseok, Yoongi, Jungkook and Namjoon arrive at the brothel a couple of hours before the beginning of the event, all of them perfectly polished and dashingly handsome, in order to mix up with the other men attending and not to stick out too much.

They move quickly with swift and loud footsteps to the main hall, finely decorated and filled to the brim with flowers, to meet Solar, who’s already dressed to the nines and welcomes them with hugs and kisses, like they all were childhood friends or something.

“Darlings! I’m so glad you’ve made it!” She says out loud with her usual honey coated voice.

“Like we had a fucking choice.” Yoongi mutters at the back, making Hoseok chuckle.

“I heard you!” She dryly retaliates.

“Guys, let’s try to keep it professional, please.” Namjoon scolds the two men, even though he has to admit that he himself thought the joke was hilarious.

“And I’m the killjoy, uh?” Yoongi pouts, poking Hoseok behind Namjoon’s back, the other man giving him a knowing look and poking him back.

“Ok, so here’s the plan. Jungkook and I will cover the hall, I’ll be right here, near the entrance, and he will be at the opposite side, right next to the stage. This way we will have a full view of the room and we will keep each other constantly updated about any movement of the guests. This way we should be able to have the situation under control, but I still insist that you place a few of your men near the entrance, so that we’ll get help should we need it.”

Solar nods at Namjoon’s words.

“I’ll make sure to tell them to do as you said and to answer to your orders.” She adds.

“Nice. Next thing, Hoseok and Yoongi are the men I promised you for your boys. I’d trust them both with my life, be sure they’ll take great care of your precious ones. We have established where and when they will have to get in touch to keep us posted about the safety of the boys: first time when they leave the room, second time when they take the stairs, third time when they take the corridor, fourth time when they arrive behind the stage. At that point, I will come to you, Solar. They’ll be reasonably close to their own assigned boy and never lose sight of them during the whole auction, then they’ll bring them back to their rooms once the curtain calls. Likewise with the entrance, they will get again in touch with me four times, the las one being when they’ll leave them safe and sound to their rooms. That would be all.”

Namjoon finishes resuming the whole plan to Solar, who listens carefully and politely smiles in agreement.

“Splendid. Shall I fetch Hwasa to bring you two gentlemen to the boys’ rooms?”

“Rooms? I thought they were sharing the same one.” Hoseok asks, concerned.

“Well they used to, but we thought it was about time to divide them since they might need… You know, privacy, from now on. But the rooms are one next to the other, you won’t even notice.” Solar answers candidly, almost as if she would be missing the main issue about such an abrupt change of plans. It’s not about how far away the rooms are one another. It’s about the fact that Hoseok and Yoongi, who had practiced their routine as if they were supposed to be working in pairs, will now have to adapt it as if they were working on their own.

Namjoon sucks in his cheeks and rolls his neck, the familiar crackling sound resonating in the room and making everyone around him freeze in fright. Then, he turns to his men and pats them on their shoulders, grabbing them fast with his palms.

“Not a word, you’re getting an extra payment for tonight, let’s just make this shit show happen and get out as soon as possible, ok?” He mutters looking at them, begging to settle for the new, unexpected scenario.

Yoongi shrugs his shoulders, completely unbothered, whilst Hoseok rolls his eyes, snorting, before answering “Fine”, in a chanting tone.

Then, Namjoon takes a step towards Solar and fastens his hand around her incredibly thin arm, before leaning over and approaching to her ear.

“What have I told you about never knowing when I’m going to snap?” He whispers angrily as he holds her so tight that the woman squirms with pain.

“Next time you’ll touch me like this inside my house I’ll have your skull encrusted with bullets for breakfast." She answers.

This time there’s no sugar in her words, this time she’s the dead serious version of herself that he has gotten acquainted with at his house a few days before.

Solar looks at Namjoon right in the eyes and shows him her teeth, before letting herself loose of his grasp with a resolved movement and pushing her hair back, to become again the overly polite, unnecessarily sweet Solar all of them know.

"Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get Hwasa.”

Once Hwasa reaches the hall, she bows before the four men and Hoseok and Yoongi instantly follow her out of the room and through the corridor leading to the staircase to the upper floor.

“So -she only opens her mouth when they’re climbing up the stairs- Which one is Hoseok and which one’s Yoongi? I’m terrible with names.” Hwasa asks as soon as she can look at them.

“I’m Hoseok.” The man with the red hair answers, lifting up his right hand and smiling widely.

“And I, of course, am Yoongi.” Says the one with the mint hair, completely emotionless.

“Very nice. So, you get Tiger -she points with her index at Hoseok while saying so- and you get Kitten, but I mean, if you wanna swap I really don’t care.” Hwasa swings her index towards Yoongi this time, then looks at them with a lifted brow.

“Let’s just keep things the way they are, we’ve had enough inconveniences for one night.” Yoongi says, already fed up with that whole situation.

“Ok, then. Follow me.”

Hwasa makes way for them along the upper corridor, knocks on a door and slams it open, without even waiting for the person inside to ask who it were.

“First stop, you, get in.” She’s tells Hoseok, who walks inside and closes the door behind him.

The woman does the exact same thing with the second door, letting Yoongi inside.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The footsteps of Hoseok are light, slow and calm. The rooms is lit by a few, golden lamps at its corners and a big canopy bed, with its drapes of ivory brocade laid down, dominates the environment. There’s a wardrobe with a big, full figure mirror and a mannequin on the left side and a dressing table on the right, Hoseok decides to sit on the armchair since the boy he has to watch over clearly isn’t there yet. He’s not worried that much, actually, so he just stays there, inspecting his nails and giving a swift pat at his jacket, checking for his gun. Everything seems to be in place.

“Ehrm.” A deep voice clears his throat and there’s a sound of drapes running open. A blue haired head slowly pops out from the bed’s curtains. “Hello?”

“Hello, I guess.” Hoseok has to hold his laughter at the silly scene he’s witnessing.

“Sorry, I… I chickened out when I felt the footsteps on the corridor.” The boy sitting on the bed pulls away the curtains blocking his sight of the man on the armchair, then smiles shyly.

He’s barely dressed and his tanned skin looks like he’s made of pure gold as he moves and reflects the warm light of the lamps, which almost creates a halo around his graceful, lean, soft, tall figure. Hoseok is kind of pleasantly surprised and leans his torso on his right side to get a better sight. He’s suddenly enjoying this job much more than he expected to.

“So, why Tiger?”

“Uhm, why what?” Taehyung looks at him, surprised.

“I mean, why’d they name you Tiger?” Hoseok explains himself with a gesture of his hands, while still looking at the boy’s body restlessly stretching on the bed.

“Oh, well, I guess they thought it would make me look more exotic.” He answers as he shrugs his shoulders while fidgeting with the beads of one of his necklaces.

“I thought you’d be older.” He says as he further observes Hoseok, deciding that he can’t be that much older than himself.

“I thought you’d be younger.” Retaliates Hoseok.

“And why’s that?” Taehyung furrows his brows. It’s the first time someone insinuates that he’s too old and he can’t tell why but that feels quite insulting.

“I mean, you’re supposed to be, y’ know, a virgin.” Hoseok is suddenly embarrassed at his very words.

“And what about it?” Taehyung doesn’t see the point that his alleged bodyguard is trying to make, nor why he’s having such an inappropriate conversation with him, what the fuck does he want anyway?

“Nothing, nothing about it, I… You know what, I’ll just stay here and mind my own business.”

The elder one reclines forward and pins his elbows on his thighs, fetching the silver cigarette holder from the inner pocket of his jacket and lighting one up, without even bothering to ask permission. He takes a long drag, the sound of combustion filling up the silence laying among them, followed by Hoseok’s breath.

The boy sits with his knees against his chest, letting his ankles dangle one against the other, as the bracelets around them make a tingling sound, his back is pushed against one of the wooden columns of the bed while he turns his head from time to time, to check on the other man as sneakily as he possibly can.

“I used to live in a monastery. That’s why. I spent my adolescence training to become a Buddhist monk.” Taehyung eventually breaks the awkwardness between them, feeling sad about the man for some unknown reason. He might have been too harsh on him earlier, it’s just that it’s all too sudden and even though he has always known this time was going to come, he’s just not ready. He’s scared. He’s helpless. He wishes he could be able to cry but he must have run out of tears, and all he is wishing for is to be considered a human being by someone on that very night when he knows he’ll be sold like a piece of meat.

“Oh. I won’t ask how you’ve ended up here.” Hoseok wants to know, of course, but he’s familiar with the pain that past memories bring with themselves, and that poor chap surely doesn’t need to be any more hurt than he already is.

“Thank you. Can I have one? Please?” He stretches a hand towards Hoseok, who looks at him interrogatively before standing up and giving him one of his cigarettes.

“Can I sit here?” Hoseok asks with a gentle smile, awaiting for the boy’s permission.

“Sure. -Taehyung makes room for him on the brink of the bed and allows the man to light up his cigarette. The warm smoke fills his lungs and he closes his eyes to savor the bitter taste in his mouth- I don’t even smoke.”

“Neither do I. I happen to when the company's good. -The red-haired man winks at him and pats on his naked thigh- For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t move his hand away, if not he squeezes the soft flesh under his palm, trying to comfort him.

“It’s a shitty life, but it’s still better than the other option. -Taehyung just shrugs his shoulders and keeps coughing and smoking- What can you do? I am making amend for my sins. After all, it’s just my body. They can have it. They won’t break me.” His answer looks more like a self-encouraging speech, Taehyung is trying as hard as he can to convince himself that that’s just an accident, a collateral part of his life, but it’s clear as day how really terrified he is.

“Nah, that’s not how I see it. You may see it as just your body, but your body is still you. Your body is an essential part of yourself, don’t degrade it to a random happenstance that can be sacrificed to the altar of atonement. I’m sure that, whatever your faults may be, no one of them deserves such punishment.”

Taehyung lays his head down low, biting his lips until he can feel them bleeding.

“Oh, to be fair this is the perfect price of retaliation.” He murmurs is his deep yet caressing voice.

“Why would you say that? What is it that you could have ever committed to deserve this life?” Hoseok is just angry in disbelief, he just can’t conceive how someone in his right mind could ever seriously be this convinced to deserve a life of abuse as a sex slave.

“You cannot understand… This is what I get for tainting the temple with my sins. I had it coming.”

“You had it coming for doing what, exactly?”

Hoseok gets closer to the boy, his hands are now both on his warm thighs and he’s desperately looking to meet those sad, intense eyes, which just keep running away from him.

“I deserve a loveless life for falling in love.”

Taehyung sighs and curls up on himself, pulling away his legs from Hoseok’s grip and pushing them against his chest, while wrapping his arms around them and hiding his face down. He thought he had run out of tears, but damn he was wrong.

Hoseok swiftly moves closer and instinctively hugs his body, the same majestic body he couldn’t take his eyes off just a few moments earlier, which now looks so tiny and defenseless, and lifts the small, perfectly chiseled face of Taehyung, holding it in his hand as he brushes the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hush, now, you’re going to smudge all of your pretty make up.” The voice coming out of the elder’s mouth is soft, gentle, caring. He pinches Taehyung’s cheeks and, finally, succeeds in ripping a smile out of him.

“It’s just that if I start to believe that my body is a part of me that deserves to be dignified, I’ll never be able to stand what’s going to happen to me. And if I start to believe that I don’t deserve this, then I’ll end up killing myself. This way… This way makes it more bearable. So it’s better like this, even though I don’t feel any less scared.” Taehyung wraps his long fingers around the elder’s wrist and tries to look at his face, which he finds out to be frowned with sadness and pity.

Hoseok wouldn’t really call himself a pansy, yet he can’t stand the suffering of an innocent. It’s tearing him apart. There must be something that he can do, but of course running away with him doesn’t look like a viable solution, even for someone with his skills, and it’s not like he has all the dough needed to bid for him.

“Listen, I know there’s not much I can do about this, and believe me, I wish I could. All I can do is give you this -he pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper and quickly scribbles on it- You can call me anytime for anything you need, and I mean it. I never do this, but you seem to be in desperate need of someone to take care of you. I’ll try my best even though I can’t guarantee I’ll be here the second after. But I’ll come, eventually. I always come.”

Taehyung picks up the piece of paper from Hoseok’s hand and hides it inside the one that looks like a worn-out diary, filled with loose papers and scrabbles.

“Thank you…”

“Hoseok.”

“Uh?”

“The name’s Hoseok. You can call me that.”

“Nice to meet you, Hoseok. I’m Taehyung.”

When the younger comes back to sit where he was before, he finds Hoseok with his arms opened wide and a nice, warm, welcoming smile on his face. Taehyung crawls in the empty space in between and lays his back on the other’s chest, feeling the man behind him wrap his hands around his body and gently rocking him, until he almost falls asleep. A little tenderness can’t hurt, at this point, and plus for the first time in years Taehyung feels righteously rewarded for firmly nonbelieving in the kindness of strangers. Maybe he just hadn’t met the right stranger yet, and Hoseok looks like he’s here to change his mind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“And who the fuck are you?” A youthful, clear voice welcomes Yoongi into the brightly illuminated room.

It comes from a richly adorned bed, filled to the brim with pillows in every shape and shade of white, on top of which a petite, yet fit and toned boy lays down, lusciously holding his pink-haired head on his palm.

He’s wearing a pink, see-through robe, stoned with white crystals and hemmed around his neck and shoulders with silver feathers. His legs are showing out, muscular yet lean, like those of a dancer, and the closer Yoongi walks towards him, the heavier he feels a smell of almond flowers and vanilla.

“None of your business. I’m just here to watch over you and walk you downstairs and upstairs. We can avoid all of the chitchatting and small talk bullshit, you just tell me where I can sit, I’ll just stay there and wait.”

Yoongi doesn’t like this.

He doesn’t like this situation the slightest bit.

Not only he has to basically babysit a boy, he even got the bratty one.

This is going to be a long night, he can already tell. At least the sight is nice.

“There. -The younger boy points a chaise longue under the window, lined with white velvet- Take off your shoes though, or you’ll stain it.”

“Sorry, what?” Yoongi is not sure whether the bitch-to-be is kidding him or is seriously demanding such thing.

“It’s new. I don’t want you to ruin it just because you want to get comfortable.” Jimin rolls on the bed with a bored tone.

“I’ll stand up, then.” Gosh, _the nerve of that boy_ , Yoongi thinks to himself.

 _Good luck to the poor devil who’s going to bid for him with taming that spoilt brat_.

He’s beautiful, he’ll give him that, but if that’s how he is going to behave it won’t be long before he’ll find someone who will put him in his place the rough way. A pity. He’s got a pretty face, if only he would shut his mouth.

Jimin just lays on the bed, playing around with the feathers around his neck, tickling his own nose and giggling. He’s fucking nervous but he’s trying to bottle up every single feeling he has and force himself to slip into the role, into the persona he wants to become.

Sexy, flirty, playful.

That’s what men like.

That’s what he’s going to be liked for by them.

By all of them.

Well, not by the one who’s in his room now, but that’s not about him now.

“So, you’re really not going to talk to me?” Jimin asks in disbelief.

“Do I have to? I never agreed to do that, believe me, I’d recall if I did.” Yoongi answers with the sharpest tone he manages to pull off.

Jimin stands up as elegantly as he can from his bed, praying to himself not to tumble, or fall, or do anything goofy in front of that man. For some reason he kind of feels challenged by him, his indifference is irritating him and he’s not in the mood to allow this random person to undermine his self confidence which, to be honest, isn’t even that high.

 _Fake it til you make it_ , that’s what Jimin keeps chanting in his mind, even though he’s anywhere but close to making it.

Nonetheless, he starts tiptoeing closer to Yoongi, with spiraling movements of his feline strut, as his robe glimmers with rainbow beams every time the light hits the crystals it’s showered with.

“I’m sorry -Jimin says softly, with a slight pout of his pink, full, glossy lips- I’m quite nervous tonight. I didn’t mean to be rude. Can I offer you something, while we wait?”

He lets the robe slip off of his shoulder, with a casual movement of his arm, making sure Yoongi sees it.

The man swallows the knot in his throat, tense at the sight of the pale, pink hued skin of Jimin’s body.

He’s not just beautiful, he’s _sinful_ and the worst part is that Yoongi can’t fully read him the way he wants to because he can’t focus as he is used to doing.

“I never drink on duty.” He manages to say, at his firmest, while he fastens his hands one around the other and starts scratching the skin around his fingers with the short nails, like he’s used to doing every time he’s nervous and doesn’t find an adequate outlet for stress.

“It doesn’t have to be a liquor, y’ know? I don’t do alcohol myself.” Jimin says, slightly turning his head backwards to look at Yoongi over his naked shoulder.

“Then I’ll take a glass of water, thanks.” He clearly understands that the boy won’t take a no as an answer, so he just tries to get away with it.

“Coming right away!” Jimin chants gleefully, moving towards a small table in a corner of the room and pouring some water into a crystal glass for his guest.

“Here you are.”

Yoongi grabs the glass and drinks it all in one shot, hoping for it to become vodka in his mouth, disappointed when it doesn’t happen.

In front of him Jimin keeps on twirling and looking at his figure in a broad mirror. He checks for every small detail to be in place, while Yoongi can’t take his eyes off of him. There’s just something about him that doesn’t convince him. He looks way too carefree, seen the circumstances, too shallow, too vain. The more his frivolous charade goes on, the more Yoongi is sure this is all an act, and he kind of feels bitter for being able to see his bluff that easily. It’s pathetic and pitiful.

“Stop that already.” Yoongi bursts out.

He’s had more than enough and it’s honestly becoming self-humiliating for the boy, thing which he’s not willing to allow. He doesn’t him to make a fool of himself any further.

“You’re not my type anyway.” It’s a lie. It’s a fucking lie. Jimin is exactly his type, Yoongi is having the hardest time keeping his shit together, but still, he hates him for trying that hard to prove God knows what whilst trying to hide his real feelings.

Jimin turn around with a furious, frustrated, desperate gaze. If he could, with all the tension within his body, he’d release a thunderstorm in the room. His eyes are wet, Yoongi can see them become glassy and quickly filling up with glistening tears.

“And who even bothered asking you?” He asks, angrily, yet sounding like a kid throwing a tantrum.

“You did, the moment you started acting all sweet and cute.” Yoongi answers.

He would usually be satisfied at his capability of seeing through people, but this time victory tastes bittersweet. The pretty boy truly does look miserable. He’s probably pushed it too far, but that’s how he’s used to do things: he likes to be swift and harsh, rather than sugar coating the truth. It makes things easier, or at least it does most of the times. Not today, apparently.

“I was trying to be nice, but I get that a jerk like you could have never got it.” Jimin finds himself screaming.

“I might very well be a jerk, but at least I’m not a certified whore.” As soon as he says those words, Yoongi realizes how terrible they are.

_That’s not him, what the fuck? What went through his mind? Since when he doesn’t think before he speaks?_

He doesn’t even have the time to question himself before he feels the familiar pain inflicted by a slap on his face.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Jimin, in utter shock, looking at his hand like the limb had acted with a will of his own and trembling like a leaf in the wind, as he tries to make himself smaller and smaller. His blushing cheeks are now covered with streaming tears and his lips are wet and slightly parted.

“I-I didn’t mean to… I… I…” Jimin stutters, choking on the knot in his throat.

He can’t even speak his mind, he can’t put words together, all he feels is his knees getting weak under his own weight.

Yoongi walks towards him and pulls him up, letting the boy completely lay on him with all of his person, as he tightens the grab of his arms around Jimin’s shaking chest.

“I’m sorry. You have no fault. I hope you’ll excuse my words, I absolutely didn’t mean to disrespect you and I wish for you to know that I don’t think any of the things I’ve said, which, as a matter of fact, I happen to bitterly regret. So if y-”

Yoongi would like to finish his phrase, but gets abruptly interrupted by a shocking feeling, way more shocking than the slap.

Jimin has lifted his head to look at him while he was speaking, with his big, innocent, blue eyes, and the more he hears Yoongi, the more he understands that his words come from the exact same place as his slap: a place of nervousness, of tiredness, of unease, of deep discomfort, of loneliness, of misunderstanding.

For a second, he seems to be able to sense, to almost see the crack in Yoongi’s being from which his pain and bitterness have gurgled outside like a venomous lava.

They are hurting the same way.

They are hiding the same way.

They are bluffing the same way.

And Jimin is so tired, he’s so, so tired that he doesn’t want to hear him anymore, because he doesn’t need him to apologize, he understands. _He knows_.

In the blink of an eye, he grabs Yoongi’s face with both of his heavily adorned, tiny, cold hands and pulls him closer as he gets on the tips of his toes and pushes his lips against the other man’s.

Jimin’s lips feel smooth against Yoongi’s chapped ones, damn if they’re smooth, and they are pressing on his ones in all of their plushness and softness and warmth.

Yoongi stands still in astonishment, but Jimin’s kiss is so sweet, gentle, luscious, sultry and compelling that he ends up reciprocating it with a heat, a hunger, an eagerness he had long forgotten to have within himself.

 

_That’s not him, what the fuck? What went through his mind? Since when he doesn’t think before he acts?_

_That’s the thing with you, Jimin, you never think_.

 


	7. Era of the Hound: 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am here for you, Kim Namjoon, better known as the Monster or, as these filthy people seem to take a great deal of childish pleasure in calling you, the Dragonslayer.”
> 
> “In the flesh. And who do I have the honor to be talking to?” Namjoon asks cautiously.
> 
> “Please, do me a favor and let that whole honor business out of this. There’s nothing honorable in what we do for a living, and from a criminal with a moral, like you take pride in calling yourself, I would at least expect a resemblance of coherency. -He takes a long pause only to dwell in a form of perverted pleasure he must clearly draw by looking at Namjoon’s puzzled face- I know what you’re thinking. Your cute, scientifically oriented, analytical mind must be overworked right now. How does he know all of these things about me? Oh my God, who is this man? Where does he come from? How come I have never heard of him? What is he after? I know that all these questions are arising on the crystal clear surface of your mind, to the point that it would only be unpolite, oh, so, so, so very rude of me to leave them unanswered."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dearest darlings, I cannot even commence to say how incredibly sorry I am for the delay this chapter is being posted with. I have no excuses, besides thet my life has been a complete, utter and stressful mess. I had to work for my bachelor's degree, I am moving from my family house to my own house (YAY!) and I have began another project, so yeah. A complete and utter mess. Please bear with me.   
> Now for this chapter I am BEYOND excited to know what you will think of it, because you are finally going to meet someone very, very special and I really want to know what you are going to think of it.
> 
> Now, for the warnings: if you DO NOT like to read smut, keep in mind that there is a smut section and it begins at "Then, Namjoon’s hand..." and ends at "the same scars as them."  
> One more necessary warning: this chapter contains triggering themes such as allusion to rape (IT DOES NOT REALLY HAPPEN!!!) and the one character I have chosen as a villain is a famous K-Pop artist. I have nothing against him or his group, honestly I deeply appreciate him and if I had chosen such a role for him, which is of course completely OOC, is because I thought he would make an absolutely charming villain, not because I think he is a mean or bad person in real life.
> 
> Now, as always, I wish you a pleasant read and please, please, please, let me know in the comment section if you have enjoyed this chapter, your thoughts and theories about what is going to happen next. Remember that kudos and comments really mean the world to me and motivate me beyond what words can tell!
> 
> I love you all and I hug every single one of you!

# Era of the Hound: 2

# 

 

The room quickly grows fuller and fuller with men dressed to the nines, some of them younger, some others older, more or less good looking, more or less wealthy, and yet all with the same expression on their faces: a primal hunger glistened in their eyes and a feral sense of competition was clenching their jaws. Those men looked like a pack of wolves eagerly waiting for their master to throw a piece of meat at them. Nothing stood between them and their beastly nature anymore. They had long transcended the limit existing between human and animal and now they weren’t even ashamed to show their true colors in the public eye. They probably were feeling safe enough to not even bother forcing an apparent composure and now there they were, sitting down next to each other with the clear will to outbid anyone else and get for themselves the best pound of flesh, just for the unique pleasure of seeing everyone else starve.

Lust.

Lust is an instinct Namjoon has quite some history with.

He knows what lust can do to a man, he has experienced it on his skin and is still the midst of the worst emotional storm he has underwent in a long time.

He knows it is affecting him, his judgement, his clarity. And it scares the shit out of him how, at that moment, the very thought of being in the same building as Jin is giving him the most absurd reactions, from shivers along his spine to sweaty hands, from gritting teeth to a slight twitch in his right eye. On top of that, Namjoon can’t push in the back of his mind the persistent thought that something is bound to happen and that he has to keep his eyes wide opened. It is not something he has ever been able to explain, this kind of sixth sense, but he knows that when it occurres to him to feel like that, he has to be extra careful and, that night, it worries him way more than usual.

“Too many people” he says out loud, but really talking to himself. “Way too many people, and too few of us.”

He nonchalantly caresses with grace the grip of his gun under his suit, in order to find a sort of comfort from the idea of being prepared and able to defend himself.

 _If you stay ready you don’t have to get ready_ , that’s what he always tells Jungkook, he has probably told this damn motto to him so many times that Jungkook just instinctively roll his eyes out of boredom as soon as he hears it, and Namjoon finds that tiny, involuntary gesture incredibly endearing, deep down. It makes him feel like a dad scolding his favorite child: he knows he has to be annoying sometimes, if he wants to pass his legacy, if he wants to teach him something, even though his legacy is not what Jungkook deserves, Namjoon thinks, it’s still the best he can provide him with. That’s all he has got: an empire of dust built with the scraps of the previous ones out of pure luck and a dash of talent for business and murder. You never know when the wind is going to blow said dust into your eyes, you never know when the beast you’ve been taming is going to bite back… _But if you stay ready, you don’t have to get ready_.

Namjoon takes a long, careful look at the room, supervising the whole advancement of the event.

He is insanely nervous, even though that one was one hell of an easy job.

He doesn’t like _easy_.

 _Easy_ means coming up with a plan based upon the thought of the whole situation being effortlessly handleable, which could perchance lead to overlooking some possible dangers and could imply making gross mistakes, that wouldn’t be as likely to occur if he had arranged the whole strategy with a different spirit. Of course he has studied the whole thing in depth, but that persistent foreshadowing doesn’t seem to be willing to let go of his grip over him, and Namjoon feels himself growing progressively more uncomfortable by the second.

_What am I missing?_

He bites the inside of his cheek to the point of bleeding. The ferrous taste of a drop of blood hits his tongue and ferally awakens his senses, like a hound who’s put back on the steps of his prey by a sudden gust of its smell. He pops his tongue and brushes it all over his teeth, focusing back on the whole scenario profiling itself in front of his wary eyes. All the invited acquirers on the list are there and are sitting down. They have all been checked for weapons, so if anyone is plotting something reckless, he’ll first of all have to pull it off bare-handedly, and secondly be aware he’ll be neutralized within seconds by a bullet in his skull. Only a madman would dare anything like that, but then again, those men look anything but clean, collected, self-controlled chaps, and madmen like to play by their own rules and happen to take a form of enjoyment of their own by flipping the chessboard when one would least expect it. That could be an issue, because for as much as Namjoon has always proven to be more than adequate to the circumstances he’s found himself into, it doesn’t mean he’s always going to be on the case at the best of his faculties, and the success condition for his task is one, and one only: staying perfectly sharp, just like Solar told him the first time they ever met.

And now, like back then, he feels a dizzying sink to his heart, the distinct sensation of standing on the edge of a point of no return, the vertigo one gets before nosediving into an unknown abyss. Unknown doesn’t necessarily mean negative, that Namjoon knows, but still he can’t help but being uncomfortable when the odds aren’t clearly displayed in front of him. It means he can only plan ahead so much, after which it’ll all come to his capability to improvise, and improvising allows plenty of room for errors.

He’s brought back from the depths of his thoughts by the touch of Solar’s hand almost unperceivably laying on his forearm.

“Sorry to interrupt you, dearest, but we are very close to the beginning of the auction and I wanted to check on you since you look tense… Is anything the matter?” Her voice feels soft and smooth.

It reminds Namjoon of velvet: sophisticate, yet dense, luminous, but with a hidden darkness.

She’s definitely one of a kind, he had never met anyone like her in his whole life.

There was something about Solar that just made Namjoon respect her, in spite of all her annoying quirks and her little flaws, through the glimmering curtains of her bright personality, in the meanders of the intricate fortress made of a self confidence that was clearly an artifact she had spent years in perfecting, Namjoon sometimes was able to catch a glimpse of her true self, of her nature, of the depths of her soul.

He had argued with her only a few minutes before, and yet there she is, worried about him, seeing through him, delicately approaching him with an expression of genuine concern in her, otherwise ice-cold, grey eyes.

“Nothing, I’m just… I keep having a bad feeling about this whole situation, I can’t help it. I’m sorry I made you worry; we can begin whenever you like.” Namjoon answers, with a candour that even he’s surprised about.

“It’s fine, we’ll all keep our eyes even more open. Instincts are not something to be underestimated, trust me, I know for a fact. Is there anything I can do to make it better?” Solar inquires, her beautiful eyes wide opened and staring at him. “I don’t want you to feel like we could have done more and better.”

“You know, to think about it there is something you can do. Are Yoongi and Hoseok already behind the scenes with your boys?” He suddenly asks after giving a quick thought to her proposal.

“Yes, they have just arrived.” The woman nods with a light tilt of her head, that makes her hair gently slip on her cleavage from her shoulder.

“Let them know I want them to constantly have reports of the situation backstage. From now on, no one gets in and no one leaves until the end of the auction. -He says, deeply immersed in his thoughts, the only hint of his true state of mind is a vein twitching on his neck every now and then- And Solar?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.” Namjoon almost whispers, but a grateful, honest smile appears on his face.

Solar can see it clearly, even in the warm, dim light of the room, and smiles in return. They owe each other a great deal, just like symbiont animals, they live off of each other, they need each other in order to accomplish more than survival, they are moved by the same drive and they both look in the same direction. That’s way more than most couples have, she thinks with a dash of bitterness, thinking about her beloved Byul. She deserved so much more than that. She could have done much more. She could’ve had the life of her dreams, smart and skilled as she was, and yet she had settled for a broken thing such as Solar. There was a time when Solar thought she really could have given her the world, and maybe sometimes she still has dreams about leaving once and for all to build a new life for the both of them, but there is this darkness inside of her, this thirst unending, this crippling brutishness that called her name and dragged her back down into the mud and the dirt, demanding more from her. More money, more business, more deals, more wealth, more fame, more danger. The razor’s edge is a damn uncomfortable place do dance on, but once you get used to it there’s no way you’d trade it for anything else, and Solar has always been one hell of a dancer. Why would she love that lifestyle was something destined to be a mystery to Moonbyul, she could see it in her eyes. Why would Moonbyul follow her without giving it a second thought was something meant to haunt Solar for the rest of her days.

All of a sudden, all the lights in the room went off and a veil of darkness laid itself among the guests.

The curtains in front of the stage slowly open up to Hwasa and Wheein, dressed in two beautiful, identical, jewel-encrusted dresses, perfectly fitted to embrace each and every curve of their lean bodies, with long tails, that gently brush on the wooden floor with a faint swishing sound at their slightest move, and so many crystals sewn onto them that even looking directly at them feels blinding.

“Gentlemen, it is our honor and pleasure to welcome you tonight at our small auction.” They start to talk in their most polite, yet somewhat playful, voice.

Namjoon can’t pay them too much attention, busy as he is to surveil the audience. He exchanges looks with Jungkook every now and then, trying to never lower his guard and keep his focus. Those men are getting bored, he observes. One of them is trying his best to hide his mouth as he yawns, some others are casually checking on their watches every couple of minutes, another man in the last row stretches himself without any sense of decency. _Animals_ , Namjoon thinks. He can see it in the way they press their lips one against the other, in how they bite their cheeks, in how they roll their tongues against their palate: they’re already savoring the sight of the boys and are so impatient that they can’t even give those poor girls a few minutes of their time. _Animals_. He would very much like to beat the palm of their hands with a wooden stick, just like they were kids at school in the good old days his grandfather used to tell him about. No guarantee at all that those days were actually as good as the old man remembered them to be, but still Namjoon thinks that he would love to educate those men to composure and decorum the hard way, and not because he indulges in violence for the sake of violence, rather in violence for the sake of retaliation. That’s the only language they’re fluent in, so why bother finding other ways to make them shape up?

Yes, Namjoon would really love to be left in that room with those men and a stick right now, but he has to refrain himself from his impulse to ride that thought because Hwasa and Wheein are introducing the first boy’s exhibition and now more than ever things are going to get serious.

“…Let’s give a warm welcome to our first fairy or, how we like to call him, the Kitten, who will be performing with one of our most talented entertainers, the Diamond. He is a young, well-mannered man, with a surprisingly flexible body, a true talent for dance, the voice of an angel and a face carved by the Gods. You will have all the time needed to take a good look for yourself at his marvelous figure during his exhibition, after which we you will be able to place your biddings. Thank you very much for your attention, and please enjoy the show.”

The two women bow and smile before leaving the stage, as the spotlight is turned off for a few seconds.

It’s just a few seconds, and yet it’s enough for Namjoon to nervously shiver and get tenser than ever: he cannot see properly and is more than worried for what he could be missing during that time frame. All he can do is try to sharpen his hearing, but it’s not like he is in a privileged position to overhear anything. He hears a murmuring, but he can’t detect the exact words spoken, then the sound of someone adjusting his posture on a chair, there is some wood creaking, a throat being cleared, a distant coughing of someone who has to be a smoker and other stuff of that kind… Nothing to worry about, apparently, yet he can’t wait for the light to be turned back on… But when they do, his attention is inevitably caught on the stage.

Two of the most beautiful men Namjoon has ever seen are walking towards each other, one with pink, fluffy hair and a pink robe, hemmed with pink and silver feathers, stoned all over with white crystals that reflected light in a thousand spots of rainbow, and one with jet black hair and a black robe, hemmed with ones that looked very much like raven feathers, long, sharp, gleaming with a green iridescence whenever the light would hit them. They were slowly walking one towards the other, with slow, elegant steps and holding a posture so perfect and so regal that, for a second, Namjoon feels like he’s witnessing the meeting of two princes, rather than the performance of two entertainers.

Everything about them seems coming from an effortless, innate royalty, and yet there are elements like the way they carry themselves in absolute synchrony, or the way they bend their ankles forward, in order to place all their weight on the tip of their bare toes, or how their hands draw arcs in the air at each step they take, that give away how much effort, study and commitment both of them must have put in the elaboration of the performance, to its smallest details.

When they eventually face each other at just a few centimeters of distance, Namjoon notices of the black-haired man is slightly taller that the other one, who also looks younger and whose eyes give away, for an instant, a glimpse of fear. He mustn’t be wrong, because his on-stage partner takes a moment to tenderly smile at him. Are those two lovers? Namjoon questions. There’s a lot of sexual tension between those two, he can’t help but notice, he just can’t figure if that’s something dance related or if the two do actually have a thing. It doesn’t matter, anyway, that’s not what he is there for, but those are the kind of details he is used to pay mind to, and he can’t help but fantasize about them dropping everything and kissing in front of the whole audience.

It doesn’t happen, of course.

Once they are one breath apart from each other, they lower their heads and let the robes slide down their shoulders. The thin fabric helplessly falls to their feet, slipshodly folding on itself in a black and pink mess that is soon kicked away by their respective right feet, in a vigorous yet graceful and controlled semicircular movement of their legs, that makes the robes float for a second midair, just like two impalpable clouds, and eventually keel over the opposite corners of the stage, surrendering to the unfightable gravity. The points of their right toes sit at their back,  with their legs tensed and stretched in a pose that looks awfully painful to hold, but the two dancers don’t even flinch: instead, they raise their left hands at their chests’ height and place them one in front of the other, as close as possible but never allowing them to touch.

The musical background is a piano solo that feels like loneliness, Namjoon thinks to himself, while his eyes jump from the spectators to the dancers, it feels like the loneliness of two tired, lost souls, who have been wandering the Earth, immersed in a sense of grief and despair, on the verge of giving up to that incommensurable sadness. The keys play a waterfall of chords that only get deeper and darker.

All of a sudden, the dancers turn their heads to the crowd spectating them. Namjoon can clearly see the frost grey eyes of the Diamond, burning with the fire and the drive and the passion typical of a seasoned performer who is more than ready to eat his viewers alive, and the blue eyes of the Kitten who, just to live up to his name, looks lost and out of place. Namjoon is quite sure there’s a trembling in them. That’s his only feature giving away how really scared he is, because besides that he is in the fullest control over himself, his body, his facial expression, but Namjoon has learnt how to detect and sense fear, so it’s not something that he usually allows to get past him.

The piano keeps playing, the chords are still harboring a sadness within them, but the rhythm is getting faster, the souls are running and running in circles, spiraling in an eternal ellipsis as they’re getting closer, and so are the dancers, who are now drawing an endless circle with their steps, their hands are finally locked, they have overcome that excruciatingly painful millimeter of distance that kept their skins from touching just a second ago, and now they’re holding so tight that the Kitten’s tiny fingertips are almost white with the despair laying in the strength in his grip. He’s not dancing, at least not to Namjoon’s eyes: he’s actually begging, he’s terrified and he’s begging, if he could he could get on his knees that very second, Namjoon knows how fear works, Namjoon is a master of fear, and the Kitten’s eyes can’t fool him, he can’t hide from him, he’s seen that look a countless amount of times before and that’s the exact stare that men who are about to die have when they realize there’s no more hope, there’s no way out, there won’t be any miracles or savior or indulgences, they will die, and the Kitten knows that a part of him, probably the most precious one, is going to die tonight. It’s no metaphor. It’s going to die in blood and tears and in the coldest sweat he’s ever felt on his burning skin. It’s going to die in his screams of pain and in the obscene moans of a middle-aged man. It’s going to die in exchange of money earned God knows how, and from this night on the Kitten’s concept of erotic love is going to be tainted with memories of hands grabbing his flesh and nails digging in his skin and spankings until he’ll be bruised and spits and licks and bites and all he’ll be left with, when it is all going to be over, will be the greatest emptiness he’s ever felt in his whole life.

The music keeps playing, heartbreakingly slow now, the pianist holds the notes and painfully stretches them to the extreme, until exhaustion, draining every drop of life, emotion and sound out of them with touching passion. From the corners of the stage, two snakes, a black and a white one, slither towards the dancers and start climbing on their bodies, wrapping themselves around their legs in volutes and curves, seconding the two men’s movements as they slide along their hips, their backs, their shoulders with a subtle hissing sound, and rest themselves around their necks, brushing against the beads dangling from the intricate chokers adorning them.

Snakes on naked skin.

Death and lust.

The dancers eventually finish their performance by slowly going back to the initial position, but this time they hold hands and lay their foreheads on each other’s shoulders, while the snakes intertwine their bodies and their snouts touch.

The piano stops playing and the audience goes completely silent for a few seconds, after which one man timidly claps his hands, followed quickly by the other ones. A loud applause bursts in the room, as sudden as fireworks, and for a second, while he’s bowing to welcome it, Namjoon sees how the Kitten seems to be happy for the very first time that night. There’s a flicker of genuine, naïve happiness exuding from his expression. He looks like a child at his dance recital, not like a boy whose virginity is being put on sale, and Namjoon’s heart clenches with the purest form of compassion he’s felt in a long time, he even thinks that he’d like to do something to spare the boy his fate, but then again there’s not much he can do. A part of his and his mob’s funds are locked in several bank accounts abroad, which have a strict upper limit of allowed withdrawals, according to a series of pre-signed agreements stipulated to protect those assets, and another large part of that money is invested in shares and obligations.

He can’t just make a phone call and decouple whichever amount of money he wants: those things take time, patience, security guarantees, a few arguments with his banking advisors and stockbrokers, not to mention an awful lot of paperwork.

He has to brush that thought away from his mind.

 _You can’t save people from themselves_ , he mentally repeats, _you can’t save people from themselves_.

But when it comes to these boys, did they really have other options?

In the meantime, he notices that Wheein and Hwasa are back on the stage and that the auction is about to begin.

“…The starting price for the Kitten is 7’000’000 won.”

Almost everyone in the room lifts his hand and the offers keep rising and rising by 500’000 won at the time. When the figure reaches 10’000’000 won, there’s still a few men battling, but most of them have given up.

Namjoon hears them murmur things such as “For all that money he must have an ass carved in marble”, or “Better give me the suck of my life or I’ll demand a refund”. He gets nauseous, he really can’t help but wanting to throw up.

The amount of money offered keeps rising and rising at a ridiculous pace, until it is a one on one challenge between two men: at this point it’s not even about the boy anymore, it’s more like a pissing challenge. Namjoon would laugh if he weren’t on duty.

They reach in the bat of an eye 19’500’000 won when a voice that sounds oddly familiar screams “25’000’000”.

Everyone in the room turns to the direction from which the voice came, in shock, and Namjoon would like to pounce at the throat of the bidder and beat some sense into his clearly empty head one punch at a time, because it takes him no time to recognize it’s Yoongi.

“T-twenty five millions and one… -Hwasa stutters on her own words, while checking if anyone else is still willing to compete- Twenty five millions and two… Twenty five millions and three… Congratulations, the auction for the Kitten has been won by the gentleman with the mint hair!”

Hwasa and Wheein clap their hands, extatically smiling and clearly dumbfounded just as much as Namjoon and Jungkook by Yoongi’s impulsive gesture.

Namjoon walks with long and fast strides along the side of the room, until he reaches Yoongi’s position, and intimidatingly corners him with a blazing glare that could set the Psyké on fire that very second, if he put enough effort to it.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” he growls, while Yoongi turns his face to look elsewhere.

“I’m doing whatever I want, _eomma_. Worried about my economic stability?” He answers with an annoyed tone, as calm and chill as ever, like that was no big deal.

“Believe me, if I were your eomma you’d be in serious trouble by now. Still, my point stands. Why would you do that? It’s an absurd amount of money, do you even have the solvency to pay that?” Namjoon is furious at how nonsensical Yoongi can be at times. He’s always the one who goes on and on about how emotions fuck people and how one must be perfectly clear-headed when running business, but now this happens and he doesn’t seem to see an issue with his actions?

“I’m just trying to understand.” Namjoon insists, this time with a calmer tone.

“Have you seen him? -Now it’s Yoongi’s turn to viciously retaliate in a hiss- Because if you had seen him, if you had looked at him carefully, you would know why I’ve done what I’ve done. He’s desperate. He’s desperate, and scared, and appalled, and lost. Fuck it, you always have mercy on the lost ones… I know you do, because you’ve had mercy on me back when we were kids. Does he not deserve even a speck of hope? He’s got a lifetime of misery ahead of himself. I am today in the position to show mercy to somebody who is just as frightened as I was ten years ago. I can never forget the fear I felt, I can’t get past the traumas I bear on my back… If I am in the position to save someone some suffering, why wouldn’t I? We don’t abandon the suffering ones. We don’t let the broken rot. And I, for sure, won’t let this boy be shattered for life. I’ve heard him talk, I’ve seen him through. He thinks he’s ready, or at least so he tells himself, so he convinces himself, but he’s got no idea of what’s coming for him. He’s a gentle soul, he’s naïve and innocent. Look at them -Yoongi says, pointing at the men in the room with a tilt of his head- They’ll swallow him whole.”

Namjoon takes a deep breath and gives up on scolding his partner, nodding his head, then pats his hand on Yoongi’s shoulder and lightly grabs it. Their eyes meet.

“Good job, Yoongi.” He admits in a whisper.

“You’d have done the same. I know you would have.” Yoongi answers, with a just hinted smile on his lips.

“But now go the hell back to your place and let’s get this job finished. Understood?” Namjoon says.

“Understood.”

Yoongi leaves with that stupid smile still camping on his face and Namjoon can’t avoid thinking that there must be something to it that he’s missing, but he really doesn’t have the time to pay it too much attention: the second part of the auction is about to begin, the bidders are getting nervous and bloodthirsty. Wheein and Solar are about to introduce the other boy, so Namjoon has no choice but to walk back to the end of the room, filled with unanswered questions that he won’t dare asking Yoongi ever again.

“Gentlemen, please give a warm round of applause for our precious, talented, enchantingly beautiful fairy, the Tiger! Now, this young man really is a sight to see: he has the most charming face you probably have ever seen, filled to the brim with charisma and mystery, a glowing, exotic, golden complexion, and a body that will leave you breathless. He will be performing by himself, so you will be able to focus all of your attention on this unparalleled beauty and, if you’re lucky, you might get to see up close for yourself how gloriously gifted he is…”

Namjoon spends the time of the speech to carefully look at the movements of the audience. They’re more stressed than before, he can tell: there’s one man who is nervously trying to loosen his shirt’s neck, that’s way too tight for him, with his finger, others have changed their posture, and now they are no longer resting their backs on the chairs, but they’re sitting with their shoulders pushed forward, other ones are showing any kind of little tic or idiosyncrasy. Their masks are slowly falling and they don’t even notice.

 _Amateurs_.

Namjoon puffs, annoyed at the thought that later he will have to make deals with some of these men and slightly worried about how on Earth will it be possible to reach a common ground with them. He knows he’s in for a long night, even though all he really wants to do is leave, call it a day and enjoy a scotch and a good read on his sofa. The auction is not even over but he’s already fantasizing about going home.

While he’s wrapped up in his thoughts, the stage becomes filled with a thick cloud of smoke and an intense perfume of santal and palisander spreads into the air. Then, from the fog, the warm light of a golden oil lantern gets brighter and brighter, as the figure holding it gets closer to the audience. A tall, slender male figure emerges from the mist, dressed in drapes of colors so warm and so bright that the very idea of said colors could never compare. His bare chest is adorned by necklaces of gold, of turquoise, of ivory, and an airy, golden shawl is laid around his shoulders and arms, while just below his navel, around his narrow yet soft waist, a massive golden belt holds together layers of voile fabric, in a gradient that goes from yellow, to gold, to orange, to bronze. His turquoise hair looks as soft as a candy cane and as shiny as a gem, but the true beauty lays in his captivating face: the look in his eyes has a power, a charisma, a strength such that all the men in the room just can’t take their eyes off of him, his expressions are both enticing and challenging at the same time, so that no one cannot really tell if he’s facing the purest innocent in the world or its biggest tempter.

His body moves slowly and sinuously, enlightened by the golden light of the lantern he is wielding, that reflects warm hues all over his skin. When he lays it on the ground in order to proceed with a more intricate choreography, a few beacons of golden light are instantly turned on and shine on his body. The background music is sensual and rich and sultry, just like the performer.

If desire had a human form, it would surely be him, Namjoon believes firmly.

All of his movements are a masterpiece of sinuosity, nothing is ever left to chance, his facial expressions match his moves and the music as well, and there is a perfect synchronicity between his choreography to the song and its tempo, almost as if he had invented both.

The Tiger elegantly flutters on the platform, powerful and compelling at the same time, embodying all of the majesty and the rareness of the animal giving him his stage name, but still giving away an aura of complete vulnerability.

All in all, it is a very accurate metaphor of a hunt: he indeed is a regal creature, surrounded by poachers, both intimidated by his presence and anxious to catch him and call him theirs, and he keeps on trying to impose himself over them and run from them at the same time. There is a natural fierceness and pride to the boy, there is an almost haughty pride in the way he carries himself. The anklets and bracelets he’s wearing seem to have the purpose to make everyone aware of his presence: he wants everyone to notice and acknowledge him, and even though he is dancing in the most sultry way Namjoon has ever seen a man do, he doesn’t want to be noticed with desire, but with respect, with reverence, with observance.

Namjoon studies him carefully: he doesn’t have the fear that the Kitten was giving away, he’s instead detached and it’s almost as if he were challenging his audience to come and get him, to dare to get close, to try their luck confronting someone with his might.

He is playing with them, and he’s clearly enjoying each and every reaction he’s inducing in them, yet there is an naivety, a playfulness, a childishness in the way he does it: every time he looks at the men staring at him with lust and want, he isn’t just pleased, he’s truly surprised, high on enthusiasm, amazed, as if he would have never thought, in his wildest dreams, to be the object of such foul desires. His hips keep rolling in ellipses that have the sound of flutes and sitars, and when they hit the rhythm they sound like glockenspiels and gongs. The softness of the waist is excellently contrasted by the precision and control he has over his movements, which invite the spectators to dare taking a closer look yet being careful not to overstep.

While what most of those men feel is a lustful desire, as their tongues brushing on their lips easily give away, Namjoon is sincerely interested in that mysterious boy: he can very well empathize with the Kitten, he understands his fear, his anxiety, his terror… The Tiger, instead, seems everything but those things, and Namjoon is way too analytic of a man to let it pass through him. The two boys are about the same age and still there is such a difference about their attitude. Why isn’t he afraid of what will happen to him? Why does he behave like the fate of his person doesn’t concern him at all? There’s a stoicism within him and a power he’s exerting, there’s a sort of dauntlessness shining in his eyes and a raw and noble fierceness about him. He looks like he’s not there to be won over, but to conquer, and Namjoon can’t wrap his head around the true reason why. He looks at him with curiosity and, deep down, admiration. The Tiger is an enigma. One he’s very willing to solve.

By the time he is done with his exhibition, the Tiger grabs his lantern back, with a perfectly executed grand plié, and takes one last, long look at the crowd sitting before him, with a satisfied smirk camping on his face, before vanishing back into the fog and the incense.

The men are now more impatient and restless than ever. One has a very peculiar twitch in his leg, Namjoon observes, and another one in the front row is holding onto his knees, with a very tight grab. A couple men in the back, instead, are checking their bank accounts, one looks with regret and self-deprecation at a picture of his son into his wallet, others are texting lies to their wives, nonetheless all of them are more eager than ever to make their offers.

The beginning price is the same as the Kitten’s, but this time the bidders are way more combative.

The men get very easily frenzied this time. Any previous appeal of calmness and of composure is now given up for good: their voices get louder, and it is not very long until Hwasa and Wheein’s voices, calling the amount of money offered, are completely overwhelmed by the beastly screams of those men.

When a few of them begin to get particularly heated and stand up, screaming threats at each other while battling for the boy, Namjoon and Jungkook know the time has come for them to intervene and force them back on their seats. The mood is definitely way more tense than expected and the whole situation is about to get ugly. Those individuals have no longer been in control of themselves for a while now, but at this point their behavior is threatening the whole outcome of the auction, not to mention the safety of anyone in the room.

Namjoon looks across the room only to find Jungkook who, with an expression of both concern and focus on his face, his eyebrows furrowed and his right hand nonchalantly slipping under his jacket, is readily checking for his gun. God, he really does hope his boy won’t have to fire, nevertheless having the certainty that, if the need occurs, Jungkook will have his back, makes him feel relieved. Jungkook is loyal, no matter the situation, no matter how dark the hour, how hopeless or dangerous it could be, Namjoon could bet his right arm that if there would be someone standing right next to him and facing peril with a challenging smile, that would be him. He might look like a lost puppy at times, his demeanor might even come across as remissive and tame, but he’s ever vigilant, brave, efficient. They both quickly walk towards those gentlemen about to not be so _gentle_ anymore, their faces purple with heat and anger, drops of sweat running down their necks soak the starched collars of their shirts, spit coming out of their mouths as they keep yelling at each other some not so lordlike terms as reciprocal descriptions.

“Excuse me, gents -Namjoon hears Jungkook speak, firmly, as he puts himself in between of the two most aggressive individuals- I understand the circumstance is causing a great deal of distress, but I have to ask you to go back to your seats.”

The men look at him with arrogance and mockery in their eyes.

“Or what?” Asks the one to his left.

“Or, I am afraid, I will have to make you.” Jungkook answers, in his calmest voice, unbothered by the provocation.

“Oh, really? Isn’t it past your bedtime?” The man speaks again, followed by a burst of laughter from the other bidders in the room.

“He must be waiting for his mother to finish working upstairs…” The other one chimes in.

Namjoon sees him about to snap at those two, and for as much as he would like to let him handle it on his own, he perfectly understands that, if he allows Jungkook to have his way, there will be no auction no more. He has to intervene.

“Is anything the matter?” He says, in his deep, growling voice. The vein on his neck has a sudden twitch.

Jungkook makes way for him, suddenly relaxed again, giving Namjoon a long gaze that proves he has understood that he has to step aside and let him deal with them.

The whole room goes instantly quiet as a tomb. All those men, who were apparently too busy with their filthy intentions to even notice his presence, suddenly recognize him as he steps into the light of the fancy chandelier at the center of the hall.

The man who spoke first lowers his head and sucks in his cheeks, while the other one takes one step back.

“Ah, Chang Hayoon, I see that you still like to run your tongue faster and better than your business… I wonder if I should teach you the pricelessness of silence for good.” Namjoon says, grabbing the man’s jaw and lifting his face, as he pulls out a refined switchblade, with a carved ivory handle, from his pocket and slowly pushes its edge on the thin lips of the man. He feels him shiver under his grip and takes all the time to gaze into his trembling pupils.

“You know I can, right? -Namjoon threatens further and Hayoon nods violently- But you know what? I’m feeling generous tonight. I’m going to let it slide. It would be a pity to spoil such a nice shirt as the one you are wearing, wouldn’t it? And what would your lovely kids say about their dad becoming mute? Not to mention I would so tragically deprive you of a thing I know you’re very fond of, such licking ass. How could I?” He’s relentlessly teasing Hayoon, without even bothering to hide his pleasure about how terrified he looks.

“Now sit, like the dog you are.” He orders and pushes him back when he lets go of his hold around his sweaty face.

Then Namjoon turns around, with the usual fire in his eyes and walks towards the other man. His shoes clank on the floor fearsomely as he struts and he sees him taking a few, clumsy steps back.

“How about you, though, Park Minhyun? I know you like to watch. Do you still wish to do so or should I take measures to rob you of the one little thing left to give you a boner? Should I go for the eyes or…” Namjoon keeps looking at his face, turning paler and paler, as he lowers the arm holding the blade to the height of the man’s waist.

“You would have no one to cry for you, no one to help you. You don’t have any family, and your creek is made of the most unfaithful backstabbers I have ever seen. You’re surrounded by parasites, Minhyun. As soon as they won’t have anything to gain from you, they’ll let you rot. I wouldn’t want to fathom the possible outcomes of an injury of yours.”

Minhyun is about to faint. He frantically looks for his chair with his hands and lets his body fall down on it deadweightedly as soon as he identifies it.

But Namjoon turns around once more, quickly steps on the stage, wraps his arms around Wheein and Hwasa, who are clearly still shook, and speaks loud and clear into the microphone.

“It’s such a delightful night, gentlemen. We are all here to have a good time, am I right? -There is no reaction during the short pause Namjoon makes after the rhetorical question, all the men in the audience are suddenly sitting perfectly still and in complete silence- Now, please, I would kindly invite you all to go on with your bids in a decent, quiet and ordered way, so that these two wonderful ladies can keep up with them and reach for a final winner. I’m sorry for the interruption and I apologize for the delay. Please move on and let the best bidder win.”

Just as quickly as he had walked up the stage, Namjoon walks swiftly towards the end of the room, crossing his eyes with Jungkook’s ones, glistening with pride and admiration, and taking a second to get close to his ear and whisper “You did more than well. I am very proud of you”, before going back to his position.

“Very well gentlemen, we had reached a tie at 23’000’000. Now, anyone willing to raise the bids to 23’500’000?” Hwasa eventually says, breaking the ice wall of shame, embarrassment and discomfort.

Neither Hayoon nor Mihyun dare to make an offer, and the auction takes back its course as calmly as ever, with newly found manners. There are different men bidding for the Tiger, but there is one who captures Namjoon’s attention: he’s very quiet, hasn’t spoken a word since he has arrived, his reactions have never been excessive, the most exaggerated gesture has probably been a nod of his head, and is dressed and behaving so composedly and so ordinarily that, by contrast, makes him stand out in comparison to anyone else. Every time someone makes an offer, he simply raises his hand. No shouting, no waving, only raising his hand in a flash and lowering it as quickly once his relaunch is acknowledged. The figure raises by the second, and there he is, completely unbothered, on the edge of boredom, Namjoon would say, while the number of the other suitors thins out at his every hand movement.

His last bid is for 30’000’000 won. No one else relaunches. No one speaks. Most of those men are beyond bored at this point, they’ve been for too long out of the picture, some of them are already trying to catch Solar’s attention and book some other fairies of the brothel, other ones are too disappointed with the dry outcome to even want to sit down there a minute longer, let alone thinking about fucking. The last few auctioneers left standing pull out and give up, eventually.

The winner gives away some self-complacency, allowing himself to smile, and whispers “Fucking finally”. Nevertheless, for as much as he has been capable to perfectly hold himself together and to not give himself away, Namjoon doesn’t miss the clear sight of a disturbing bolt of obscure satisfaction in his dark brown eyes. He doesn’t look genuinely happy or pleased with himself. He’s rather got the unsettling look of a seasoned slayer excited at the thought of fresh blood’s taste arising in his mind.

The sinister feeling Namjoon had at the beginning of the night strikes him again, and strikes him hard: for a second, he could swear he has had a sudden vision of blood on his hands.

Namjoon doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it at all.

 

* * *

 

 

After the auction, the mood of the soirée takes a whole different direction: champagne is endlessly flowing and glasses don’t even make it to be emptied, since there is a plethora of waiter and waitresses ready to discreetly fill them up.

Neither Namjoon nor Jungkook have touched a drop of alcohol, as they are warily controlling the hall, but, most of all, they are both waiting for Yoongi and Hoseok to come back from the rooms of the boys upstairs.

Then, Namjoon’s pocket vibrates. He looks at the notification on the lit display.

It’s from Yoongi.

 _Done, on our way_.

A few seconds later, they both appear from behind the stage’s heavy velvet curtain.

“Is everything alright? Seen anything suspicious up there?” Namjoon asks in a hurried whisper.

“Everything’s peachy, honestly it was a piece of cake.” Hoseok answers. “The boys are sweethearts, I’m sure Yoongi will be with me on this.” He teases, winking in the direction of Yoongi with a sly smile, who instead rolls his eyes and huffs.

“Every day I have to endure unspeakable suffering because of your teasing Hoseok, at this point I wonder if this torture will ever end.” Yoongi reacts, dramatically and in a unnaturally emphasized tone.

Namjoon doesn’t have the time to answers, because in the blink of an eye he finds Solar’s arm wrapped around his own. She stands on the tip of her toes to fill in the height difference that distances her from his ear, and whispers “We are ready whenever you are” to Namjoon.

He looks at her and nods.

“Dearest, I will never be able to thank you enough for your wonderfully done job. If it weren’t for you, I am afraid this would have been an utter and total disaster. I was hoping for my guests to behave themselves, but apparently, as always, my biggest flaw is to overestimate people and to take for granted that they will be up to the situation. Unfortunately, I have to steal Namjoon from your company for a few minutes, since there is a matter we need to discuss that shall not be postponed any further. Please be my guests, Hwasa will lead you to a private room where you will be able to indulge on the champagne and the food as much as you want without anything or anyone bothering you.”

Solar speaks with her usual soft, gentle tone, but Namjoon detects some unusual high pitches every now and then and a slight rush in her speech- so, that’s how she sounds when she is happy. He chuckles. She’s one of the coldest blooded, deepest scarred, toughest-skinned women he has ever met, and yet her joy is so genuine, so spontaneous, so mindless.

“As for you, you young, lucky lad -She says while pointing her finger at Yoongi- feel free to book your encounter with the Kitten whenever it pleases you. I’ll make sure he’ll be a real treat for you and that you have all the time you wish for to spend with him.”

“I will, thank you very much Solar.” Yoongi answers, staring at the ground with his cheeks glowing red, and waits until Namjoon and Solar have left before lifting it back up, hoping for no one to notice his violent blush at the bare reference to Jimin.

In the meantime, Namjoon and Solar walk out of the room and walk down a hidden, dark corridor.

The ambient smells stale and musty. Namjoon almost gets lost contemplating the shining specs of dust, floating in the pale moonlight and almost glimmering when the white beams hit them, before noticing that they have slowed down their pace. The designated room for the meeting is in a very remote, hidden area of the Psyké, which was probably built for those kinds of occasions, when Solar wished to attend to her business with individuals who weren’t supposed to be seen in such a compromising location or who did not want their presence to be known at all. There must be quite a few hidden rooms in the building, as many as Solar’s secrets, Namjoon thinks, but he is quickly interrupted by his hostess, who stops in front of an old, wooden door, and pulls a key out of her small purse to open it up.

“The gentlemen I wish to introduce you to are already inside. Had to bring them here before they got too drunk.” She whispers, letting out a giggle at the end of her sentence and exchanging a knowing look with Namjoon, who shakes his head, amused.

“How many of them are in there?” He asks out of curiosity, while Solar pushes the door wide open with a loud creaking sound.

“Oh, not so many. Just…” She doesn’t have the time to finish what she is saying, because as soon as she looks into the hidden room, she gasps with horror at the macabre sight before her, instinctively putting both of her hands in front of her mouth to suffocate a shocked scream.

“Just one.” A deep, masculine voice answers from the end of the room.

At the center of the room, sitting at an extremely beautiful and most surely handmade walnut wood table, finely carved and polished as a mirror, there are four male corpses, all of them dead, with a gunshot at the precise center of their foreheads.

The white walls of the room are stained with brains and deep red blood splatters, still slowly dripping to the floor.

Namjoon needs a few seconds to take in the whole scene and to recreate the curse of events that might have led to those men’s murder, which is crucial in order for him to decide how to behave in front of that unforeseen circumstance.

The one man he acknowledges to be the killer is right in front of him, at the opposite edge of the room, calmly taking a few, unbearably slow steps, until he plops on the chair at the head of the table, relaxes his legs and crosses his feet on top of it and brushes his plump lips with the silencer of the 9mm he’s wielding in his left hand. A remarkably charming and sensual man, indeed, if it weren’t for that glimmer of morbid craze in his eyes, that send a shiver down Namjoon’s spine as soon as they cross his own ones.

“Sorry for the mess, I’ll pay for the plastering and whitewashing of the room.” He speaks again, with a definitely overly polite tone.

That man seems unbelievably detached and indifferent towards his own actions, he even stares at both Solar and Namjoon with one that looks like the sincerest expression of dismay.

“Why don’t you join me? Come on, come on, sit down!” He rushes them, pointing at some spare chairs at the opposite end of the table.

But as soon as Solar walks towards the one at the other head, he forces her to stop with the unmistakable metallic sound of the gun’s safety being taken off.

“No one was talking to you, Solar. -the man says, his voice now sounding completely atone and sharp as a knife, before pointing his gun at Namjoon and staring at him directly- You. I am here for you, Kim Namjoon, better known as the Monster or, as these filthy people seem to take a great deal of childish pleasure in calling you, the Dragonslayer.”

Namjoon complies, hoping to buy some time and to get some informations about the madman sitting on the other side. He has to be extra careful from now on: there is no such thing as the perfect crime, he knows it well, consequentially there is no such thing as the perfect criminal, and even though the individual he’s facing right now seems to be anything but ordinary, he’s sure that there scientifically exists a margin of error in the criminal conduct of those of his kind. All he has to do is to focus and gain as many clues about him, his personality, his behavioral pattern, his motives, as he can to confront him on equal terms.

“In the flesh. And who do I have the honor to be talking to?” Namjoon asks cautiously.

“Please, do me a favor and let that whole honor business out of this. There’s nothing honorable in what we do for a living, and from a criminal with a moral, like you take pride in calling yourself, I would at least expect a resemblance of coherency. -He takes a long pause only to dwell in a form of perverted pleasure he must clearly draw by looking at Namjoon’s puzzled face- I know what you’re thinking. Your cute, scientifically oriented, analytical mind must be overworked right now. _How does he know all of these things about me? Oh my God, who is this man? Where does he come from? How come I have never heard of him? What is he after?_ -Now the man is poorly attempting to imitate the questions in Namjoon’s head with a creepily chanting voice- I know, I know that all these questions are arising on the crystal clear surface of your mind, to the point that it would only be unpolite, oh, so, so, so very rude of me to leave them unanswered. First of all, let me introduce myself. My name is Kim Kai, but people call me King Kai.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Kim Kai relaxes and stretches his back against the velvet lined backrest of the chair.

There is this smirk on his lips, this disturbing, persistent, gloating smirk that Namjoon wishes to punch away, if it weren’t for the fact that, probably, the madman would have laughed for the whole time of the beating. He sucks his cheeks in and bites the flesh to contain himself.

“At this point you might be wondering what I want from you, why did I even bother showing up and, I know curiosity is killing you, what would I have to offer to a man blessed with lucky sevens and who is currently holding everyone by the balls. Think, Namjoon, think, use that pretty head of yours, I know it’ll come to you if you put your mind to it.” He lays the gun on the table and crosses his arms, wiggling his head left and right as he pops his tongue and presses his lips together. “Need a hint?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Kai, but I’m not here to play guessing games, so you either spill your guts and put an end to this charade or I’m afraid we’ll have to call it a night.” Namjoon answers in a growl.

“I know, I know, you have to collect the babies and put them to sleep, it’s way past their bedtime and you just can’t resist your motherly instinct, nonetheless I’m sure you’ll be soon intrigued. But first, Solar, would you mind pouring us a drink? I’m still quite disappointed with you, darling. I’m sure you’re now going to put it in terms of how I do not make a fitting guest for your kind of auctions, yet one of my closest friends was invited and it has come to my knowledge that he even managed to successfully bid for a juicy boy of yours. I would have at least appreciated to receive an invitation as well, I would have kept it in my collection of those cute letters of yours, you know, the ones written on that delightful arstisanal lilac paper and with the pretty golden seal on the envelope. I have to admit that I have felt… How do I put it? Neglected, yes, that’s the word. Why do you have to hurt my fragile masculinity like this, sunshine? You know how I happen to be a very sensitive soul…” Kai says, in a flamboyant tone, exaggerating and flaunting his arms’ movements, but with a disturbing emptiness in his eyes.

“Very sorry about the inconvenience, darling -She answers, trying to keep her voice still, but there is an unusual vibration in the way she speaks. She’s scared. She must know for a fact what that man is capable of, and Namjoon knows Solar is not a coward, so he must be very cautious about how he threads with him- It was not ill-intended, I’m sure you are aware of that much.”

Solar puts a glass of scotch on the rocks in front of Kai and a snifter with an aromatic, perfumed brandy in front of Namjoon, then pours herself some pure vodka and swallows it in one shot.

“So, where were we? -Kai says in a, Namjoon is sure, purposely confused tone- Ah, yes, I remember. Well, this conversation would have been so much funnier if only you would have borne with me, but you decided to be your usual self. Boring. I was hoping for the conversation to be so much more interesting, to have some fun together, instead you chose to behave like some champion of justice or something. Yet we both know that you’re not even close to that. Oh, surely your men like to think you’re some kind of bulwark of rectitude, which honestly only shows how little they know you. I, instead… Oh, how do I know you. I know you because I can smell my kind miles away. You like to think of yourself as a master of fear? Well, so do I. The only difference between the two of us is we exert it differently. For example, if I were to hurt you, I would never lay a finger on you. If you were to hurt me, you’d shoot me like I did with these fellas. And just for your information, I promise, they were not that interesting. In a way, I have saved you from an outrageously tedious conversation that would have all revolved around money… How very pedestrian, right?”

As Kai pauses his monologue to take a sip of his scotch, Namjoon gets more wary.

He might look like a madman and behave like one, but his interlocutor is definitely not a hack.

He’s careful, almost on the verge of maniacal, and the fact that he speaks so much is efficiently distracting both him and Solar from asking the real questions, bringing all the attention to what he wants to say and not letting them corner him to avoid telling what they need to know.

“I will agree once you will do me the favor to fill me in on what this is all about.” Namjoon says while swirling the brandy inside the glass in his hand, but never lowering his gaze from Kai’s bright green eyes.

“How severe. Honestly, Namjoon, money is just a collateral profit in our field. Sure, most of those who do what we do are motivated by it, but those like us are very well aware that it’s just not that. Money is never the real end, it’s just a pleasant benefit that allows us to afford some simple pleasures in life. Our men know it well, don’t they? -Kai winks at him, clearly referring to the auction, which leads Namjoon to think that the one who won the bid for the Tiger knew that Yoongi wasn’t just one in the crowd- We got where we are now not because of the money, but because of the power. Power is the real motivator. Power and, with it, the almighty feeling we get from being destiny’s agents on Earth. When people meet those like us, they ultimately encounter their fate. We change people’s lives, one way or another, once and forever. Just think of that kid of yours, the one with the lost puppy eyes, what’s his name again? Jungkook? You have changed his life, even if it’s not clear if for the worse or for the better since now he’s an apprentice killer, but hey, I’m the las one who can judge, I’ll leave the moral dissertations to you. And moreover, isn’t it funny how your whole life, your whole existence, has led you to meet me tonight? Of course, it would have never happened if I hadn’t got through the trouble of a quadruple homicide, but what can you do? Sometimes the road to destiny is paved with casualties, and I, Namjoon, I am destiny just as much as you are. We’re two major forces ruling this world and finally encountering each other.”

Kai’s eyes are glistening with excitement now as his speech gets frenzied and his breath short.

He’s getting close to the point and he can’t wait for it to arrive, he’s clearly and almost irresistibly impatient.

“In case you were wondering, Namjoon, I am not here to beg you to be my ally. I am surely not going to tell you that I want to deal with you. I deal in informations. I know things. I remember things. I have a storage filled to the brim with so many secrets, so many scandals, so many confidential files that I could bring anyone to kneel in front of me just by sending an email. There is nothing you can offer to me and there is nothing you can do to contrast me. I know everything and I am everywhere. I lurk in the shadows, I listen, I stalk, I prey, and I have seen and heard of you a little too much for my likings lately. Now, I am here to show you the face of the man who is going to make you earn it. I want to play with you, I want to see what you’ve really got. I want to test you. I want to give you sleepless nights and crippling shivers. I want to be all what’s going to be on your mind from now on. I want to obsess you just as much as you have been obsessing me. This is a promise. Tonight you have met your destiny and I have met mine. We are now going to play the biggest game of chess this city has ever seen.”

“And what if I refuse to play? You’re nothing to me, you have been nothing to me until now, why would you mean something to me in the future?” Namjoon retaliates, trying to stay as calm as possible, even though he is raging on the inside, the wish to plant a bullet in his skull almost makes way through his mind with increasing force and incredibly compelling charm.

“Ah, Namjoon, please! You will not deny me. Don’t fear the shrouded path… It’s the only one to walk to find out if we’re worthy enough to survive. You know that I wouldn’t have lured you in my web if I didn’t have anything on you, and believe me, you are not as discreet as you think. As I said, if I were to hurt you, I would not lay a finger on you. But what about little orphan Jungkook? He is still so naïve. So innocent. I could touch him. Actually, I could torture him, if I would. I could torture him and send you a full documentary of the process, and he would be kept in place so safe and unreachable that he would be dead for two weeks before you’d find him. Do you really want me to not play by the rules?” Kai bursts out in a laughter that shakes Namjoon from head to toes in pure horror and detestation.

Then, he stands up and walks up to Namjoon, carelessly dangling the gun in his hand, and bends over him until they’re so close that they almost touch. Namjoon can feel Kai’s breath on his face and his hand on his shoulder, warm and sweaty. He has to make an exceptionally demanding exercise of composure and stillness to contain the impulse to choke him, bare handedly, and leave him dying on the floor, filled with an ancestral fury as he is after having had to listen to the sickening, revolting, foul threats made about Jungkook.

Anything but him.

Anything but his precious boy.

“Do not deny me, Namjoon. You won’t like me when I feel disregarded. -Kai whispers and smiles widely at him, self-complacently, before walking to the door and turning the doorknob- Have a pleasant evening, Namjoon. I’ll keep in touch. Be sure of that much.” He chants with a twisted happy tone as he walks out.

Namjoon is still twirling the brandy in his glass. He hasn’t even touched a drop of it.

After a few minutes that feel more like hours, spent obsessively thinking about the possible scenarios opening up for him from that moment on, and with his heartbeat racing under his chest, he turns around and his eyes meet Solar’s ones.

She is holding herself up against the wall, terrified and astonished, her lips are trembling while her eyes get glossy and wet with tears, which she tries to push back unsuccessfully.

“I don’t want to know anything about what he has done to you or what he holds against you. Just answer this: did you know?” Namjoon asks, walking up to her.

“N-no… No, Namjoon, I… I had no… No idea.” Her voice is cracked by loud sobs and she hides away her face from him, fidgeting with the button of her pochette and pulling out a napkin to dry her eyes.

Namjoon stops her by grabbing her gently by the shoulders and giving her a delicate shake, attempting to interrupt her shocked reaction and bring her back to her senses. He has seen people behave like that, one could say he had quite an experience with traumas. It’s the terror that only those whose soul has been irremediably tainted, those who have been shattered, those who have been wounded so deeply that they never stopped bleeding ever since, feel at the sight of their abuser. It’s crystal clear that the two of them have history, but this is definitely not the time to dig deeper. Involuntarily, he wraps his arms around her and allows her to cry all of her tears in the warmth and safety of his hug, without ever letting go or giving away signs of tiredness, for as much as he’s worn out and more than concerned himself. Eventually, it’s Solar who interrupts the hug and pours herself another smooth vodka.

At that point, Namjoon drinks a sip of the brandy, rolling it in his mouth and against his palate to fully savor it before swallowing. The drink leaves a sense of heat and a spicy flavor in his mouth.

“It wasn’t an ambush. You know me. I would’ve never done this to you.” Solar mutters in a flat, tired tone.

“I know it wasn’t. Don’t even think for a second I would doubt you. You might have flaws, but you’re not a liar and you’re not a traitor.” He answers, offering a timid, reassuring smile to his friend.

“I don’t know what he wants… I don’t know how to help you… Nonetheless, Namjoon, Kai is no ordinary person. His mind is twisted, but his intellect is crystal sharp and as bright as a diamond. He may be a proficient speaker and might look like he’s all about the appearances, yet, if you can imagine that, he’s even more skilled when it comes to action. There is no one he doesn’t have a whole dossier about. He likes to play with his victims, he likes to torture them in any possible way, he likes to see them hurt, and his threats are never in vain. If I were you, I’d be very careful about that boy of yours.” There is pain in her voice and fear in her eyes as she speaks.

“And you have experienced such things first-handedly, am I right?” Namjoon asks.

He finishes his drink with the distinct desire to have another one, but doesn’t dare to ask.

It isn’t needed, because Solar goes for the bottle and hands it to him.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Here, have it and help yourself with as much as you want. You’re might need it tonight.”

Namjoon thanks her with a bob of his head and, with the bottle of brandy in one hand and the glass in the other, walks out of the room with Solar.

They walk back towards the hall where the auction has been held without saying a word: there is a halo of uneasiness lingering upon them and, for that night, they are left with much to think about, way too much to speak. They walk together, yet their minds are wondering towards places very far apart one another, obscure, fearsome, anguishing corners of their minds made where it would be never advisable to dwell too long.

“Solar…” Namjoon breaks the silence when they’re just a few steps away from the hall’s door.

“Yes?”

“I have one more thing to ask, before letting you go and get the rest you deserve. Would you please tell my friends to go back without me? I need to think, and I cannot do it at my place. I wouldn’t feel safe there. Not tonight.” He confesses, letting fear transpire for the first time in a while.

“Of course I can, darling. Is there anything else I can do to comfort you?” Solar’s voice is tired, and still she manages to be so sweet and careful, almost motherly.

The truth is, Namjoon’s head is so crowded with thoughts and memories from his past, with concerns and fears, with an anguish he thought he had long forgotten, that are all screaming at him at the same time and trying to paralyze his reasoning. He needs to come up with a plan, he needs to think, he needs to make those voices shut the fuck up an reestablish his domain upon his own brain, he needs it so much that he could scream for how painful it is to him to be festered with such feelings and mementos.

“I would like to be alone. I have a lot to think about” Namjoon says with a feeble, struggling voice.

His eyes glisten with sadness and his heart aches with every single one of the few words he speaks, receiving and endeared look by Solar as an answer.

“Follow me. I will take you somewhere you won’t be disturbed, darling.” She answers, pointing elegantly, with a wave of her arm, towards a staircase.

 

* * *

 

 

Namjoon finds himself inside a beautifully decorated room.

There is a beautiful, big wardrobe, ‘20s style, probably walnut; then there are a few tables and desks here and there, in different styles, with their tops crowded by bottles of perfumes, pieces of jewelry, scarves and flower vases; then again, pushed against a wall, there is a large vanity, with a couple not fully closed drawers and a few more perfumes and jewels mindlessly laid on the countertop, an opened box in mother of pearl with some face powder inside, some brushes and other trinkets here and there.

It’s a messy room, but still it delivers a sense of elegance and warmth.

Solar said he wouldn’t have been disturbed there, which he very much hopes to be true, because it is the room of one of her workers who is on his shift that night.

Namjoon falls on the beautiful bed at the center of the room. The duvet, in an elegant, iridescent silk and embroidered with pearls and silver thread, is smooth against his body and has an extremely luxurious feel. Must have been pricey, Namjoon thinks, so probably this one is a special worker, with some experience and talent.

But he’s too exhausted to question whose room he is in, at the time, a little too tipsy and way too tired to put his mind to it.

Worn out by the encounter, terrified about the received threat, unsure about what to do next, his mind eventually stops racing as his body fails him, giving up to the inevitable weariness that slowly yet forcefully drags him in the depths of a dreamless sleep.

 

 

“Well, look what the cat brought in!”

He is woken up by a gentle whisper in his ear and a soft, warm kiss on his forehead.

Namjoon slowly opens up his eyes, still sleepy and heavy. It takes him a whole minute to fully focus who is sitting next to him, in the blue darkness of the high night.

“Jin?” He asks, surprised and confused. Why would he be there? Unless, of course…

“Of all the things I would have expected to find in my room once I had finished my shift, you were definitely the most unlikely one, but I have to admit that with you one never knows.”

Jin’s voice is as beautiful as ever, melodious, clear, soft when he whispers and bright when he talks. Namjoon smiles, still feeling ashamed about his behavior from their last meeting, still feeling sad about it and deeply sorry.

“Solar said I could have stayed here to clear my thoughts a bit, if I had known I would have asked for another room to stay where I wouldn’t have disturbed you…” Namjoon says.

“No need. Long night?” Jin asks, with a tone that feels so genuinely sweet and caring that one would almost think nothing had happened between the two of them.

“Terribly. -He answers, massaging his eyes with his hands and suffocating a yawn in his throat- It was…”

“You don’t have to tell me, you know?” Jin proceeds to timidly take Namjoon’s hand in his own and gently brush with his fingers on his palm.

“No, probably not. It would endanger you if I did. Oh, and about this… Jin, I am deeply sorry about our last encounter. I have been awful and then I didn’t know how to ask for your forgiveness. Partly too ashamed about myself, partly terrified about your possible rejection, and partly paralyzed at the thought of facing you because of the way you see right through me.” Eventually, Namjoon comes clean about his feelings, too tired to hold back anymore or hide behind his pride any longer.

“Oh do I?” Jin asks, playfully, with the loveliest smile Namjoon has ever seen on his face.

“Yes, yes you do.” He answers, taking courage and caressing Jin’s soft cheek.

His skin feels like a dream, delicate, warm, luminous and unbelievably smooth.

“You know you didn’t owe me an apology, right? At the end of the day, there is no reason why you would have to…”

Namjoon doesn’t let him finish his phrase, pulling him to lay next to him by his nape and passionately sinking his lips against Jin’s ones in a desperately needy kiss he had longed for entire days, almost as if every second spent away from him was torture.

He breathes Jin’s jasmine perfume, and he suddenly remembers everything about the night they had met, he remembers the blood flushing through his body like never before, he remembers the uncontrollable desire to touch and kiss and worship every inch of his perfect body, of his godlike face, of his proud soul, he remembers the harmony of their bodies when entwined together and the distinct necessity to have him closer, to have him whole, to take him and to be taken by him, to surrender all of his defenses and everything he owns for the sake of the burning passion Jin awoke in him with such an irresistible grace.

Their mouths keep on clashing one against the others like ocean waves, parting only to meet again with more desire, with more hunger, craving for that touch and that warmth they found into each other, and their hands are confusedly yet relentlessly seeking for the feeling of their naked skins, rummaging through buttons and knots and fabrics and strips, until they can finally run free on the curves and the shape of each other’s body, studying it through their touches and caresses and grabs.

Namjoon takes a long second to contemplate the astonishing beauty of Jin, who is now laying under him. His pale skin glows in the celestial moonlight, his necklaces are still on, adorning and embellishing even the slightest curve of his body, while his luminous, violet irises shine like the sun at dawn, bringing beauty back to a world of darkness and despair with their mere existence.

He runs his fingers all over him, without ever allowing his eyes to escape the charming gaze of Jin’s ones, completely raptured in the enchanting miracle of all of his person, trying to memorize every line and every corner and every texture of his body, before delicately pulling him up to lay him at the center of the bed and placing wet kisses all over him, from his neck, to his shoulders, to his chest, to his abdomen, to his hips, letting his tongue slip every now and then, to taste the unique flavor of Jin’s skin and savor it, as the other man sighs and winces and moans as Namjoon’s mouth heads lower and lower.

Then, Namjoon’s hand delicately begins to touch Jin’s painful erection, caressing the smooth skin with his fingers and placing kisses all over his shaft with extreme carefulness. Jin lets out a loud moan at the very contact, his tip being already slightly glossy and wet with leaking fluids. Namjoon can’t resist the urge to eagerly lick it and feel the slightly bitterness of them on his tongue. Then, he begins to gently stoke him, while his mouth lowers to another, more hidden, more precious spot, and once again he fills it wit kisses that make Jin shiver and his muscles clench as soon as Namjoon’s tongue slides on his sensitive skin and eagerly licks his hole like it were the most delightful thing he had ever tasted, going in swirls and sliding along his rim, before slowly slipping one finger of his free hand inside of him, making him gasp for air at the contact and leisurely proceeding to progressively stretch him.

At every moan coming out of Jin’s mouth, Namjoon gets more and more aroused, impatient, lustful, hungry for more of him, taking the most refined and perfect pleasure from the very thought of finally being into the room of the man who had him charmed and intrigued, so much to force him into sleepless nights and devouring fantasies where he was allowed to have him all for himself, and now there he is.

More beautiful, erotic, desirable than he could have ever imagined, with those plump, glossy lips, that glowing skin, that elegant, lean, body, that soft yet toned flesh, those full, black, fluttering lashes and that voice, whose pleased humming feel like a choir of angels to Namjoon’s ears.

“Please…”, Jin whispers in an aery breath, “Please… Take me…”

Namjoon had to bite his lower lip to keep himself from acting accordingly to his excitement, yet he complies, spreading Jin’s legs a little wider and, quietly, sliding inside of him, taking all the time in the world to feel Jin clenching around his shaft and opening up for him with his every single, gentle thrust, until he is fully inside of him. He takes a pause to feel Jin’s warmth and wetness before he can go on. It is too good to be true. Jin is too good to be true. It is only when he feels his erection twitch with eagerness that Namjoon begins to thrust inside of him again, now harder, with a loud moan of complete satisfaction and fulfillment. Jin’s hand drag him lower, in order to kiss him, and then begin traveling along his back, studying the movements of his muscles, grasping on them, tightening around his hips and pushing them forward to feel him deeper. And, once again, Namjoon obeys. He goes deeper, and he goes there faster, and with more force, with more desire, with burning passion, breathing heavily against Jin’s skin, feeling Jin’s tongue all over his neck and his mouth and teeth sucking on his skin and painfully marking it, making him roar with a relish that turns him into his most untamable self, that self who has longed for Jin’s touch and for his body way more than he’d like to admit.

The more desperately Namjoon wants him, the harder he takes him, the more he wishes to own him and to have him like that forever, to be able to call him his, to solve the mystery of that man and to allow him to solve his own, to give himself to him, body and soul, and maybe that is exactly what is happening now, in the darkness of Jin’s room, only enlightened by the moonlight, in the midst of their breaths, of their skins brushing against each other, of their sweaty bodies getting tangled and bond together, of their moans, of their kisses, and, eventually, of their screams of pleasure that coincide in an erotic duet as they reach their climax altogether, at the same time, eventually won over by the unstoppable, instinctual need they have to belong to each other and to allow each other to call them their own, in a mist of sex and dire need to surrender to someone that wears the same scars as them.

Namjoon collapses against Jin’s chest, overcome with emotion, listening to the sound of his heartbeat: it’s still a little rushed, but it’s the most beautiful song he has ever heard and he’s never felt happier and more complete than he does now, with Jin gently combing his hair with his fingers and placing small kisses on his head.

If only he could stay like this forever…

Namjoon sheds a tear and, eventually but at long last serenely, falls asleep.


End file.
